wetting her pants with excitement. To my left is a man called Richard, who’s something to do with Granada Television. He turns his long face towards me and attempts to make conversation.
‘So, Viv, do you have any children?’
Particles of salmon mousse glisten on his moustache. He smells like a penguin.
‘No, because my fiancé went off with someone else.’ He pulls back his head as if he’s been bitten on the nose. ‘Yeah, he just went off with her before I’d had time . . . you know, to . . .’
Richard is at a loss. He starts speaking into the flower arrangement. ‘Oh, right. Well, we have three. Our oldest, Josh, is fourteen; he’s into music.’
I look around the room, smiling inanely. Jane really looks beautiful and relaxed. Hugo just looks like an overenthusiastic knob, but as I gaze at his razor-burn face and sausage fingers, weirdly, I feel a surge of pity for him. Rob is now feeding Sam with a bit of cucumber from his plate. I feel like he’s taken his butter knife and skewered me through the heart. When I move my head, I get a sensation of being at sea. I smile at Richard, who’s still talking, seemingly to an imaginary friend.
‘Then there’s Ruby, who’s four now . . .’
‘Are you talking to me? See, I’m not interested.’ I beam.
‘Beg pardon?’
‘Not interested in your kids.’ As his face crumples in horror I suddenly feel uncertain and a bit giddy, so I butter a roll. Richard turns his back on me.
I eat the bread as the starter dishes are cleared and replaced by plates of roast beef. I chew thoughtfully and examine the plate. There’s a slice of meat looking like the leather tongue from a shoe, limp yellow spring greens and a Yorkshire pudding adrift on a pool of gloopy gravy. I grab the waitress.
‘I’m a vegetarian.’
She looks puzzled. ‘Oh, we haven’t got you down. Did you order a vegetarian meal?’
‘No, but I want one.’ I hand the plate of beef to her and turn back to my bread roll, suddenly starving. I haven’t eaten bread for over a week. Actually, I’ve hardly eaten anything for over a week. I take Richard’s bread roll as well.
Max is getting on my nerves with his ‘Oirish’ act, so I interrupt him. ‘He’s been living in England for the past sixteen years, you know.’
Max clamps his arm tightly around my shoulders, squeezing me into him. ‘Ah, but you never lose it, though, do you?’
Dawn laughs and Max looks down at me.
‘And how are you doing?’ He glances at Richard’s back. ‘I see you’ve managed to ingratiate yourself with everyone.’
‘Let’s get more champagne.’
‘Are you sure?’ He holds up his hand. ‘How many fingers?’
‘Eleven. Get me a drink.’
People are scraping their plates towards the end of their meals when mine is plonked before me. It’s half a red pepper filled with rice topped with a drizzle of mushroom soup. Richard glances at it with distaste. I poke it with a knife and wonder if I can change back to the roast when the lone piper appears beside the top table. Knife hits glass and he is ‘praying silence for the father of the bride’. Jane’s dad gets to his feet. It’s uncanny how much he resembles Hugo; more than Hugo’s own father. I examine Hugo’s mum –
could
she have had an affair with Jane’s dad? Because, if so, surely she should declare it now, and stop Jane continuing a sham marriage to her half-brother. Maybe I’ll point that out to Jane later; she’ll thank me in the long run.
Jane’s dad speaks lovingly of his daughter. I refill my glass. Slides are shown of Jane sitting on a bike and smiling with gappy teeth while he tells an amusing tale of how he taught her to ride a two-wheeler. There’s Jane as a teenager with electric-blue eyeliner and braces. Jane’s dad tells us how he chauffeured her around town. I wonder if my father would have loved me, or if he ever even knew I was born. I think of my granddad, and how he used to let me steer the car while he