Always, in December(68)
“Don’t think we’d mind, would we?” said Tom, pulling out his seat next to Jess, leaving Josie sitting awkwardly between two empty chairs as they waited for the other three people to join their table of six. It was all about the even numbers at weddings, wasn’t it?
“So, where are you staying, Josie?” Jess asked, leaning across the table to be heard over the chatter of the room.
Josie eyed up the breadbasket that a waiter brought out and wondered if it was too soon to help herself to a roll, given the table wasn’t full yet. “In Buttercup.” Then, when Jess looked blank, “In the castle.”
Jess gave a little wistful sigh, while Tom pouted. “We’re in a hotel,” Jess explained.
“Yeah, and we’re sharing a twin room,” Tom added. “The height of glamour.”
“It was cheaper,” Jess said primly, “so I don’t know what you’re—”
“There,” hissed Tom, nudging Jess sharply in the ribs and jerking his head. “That’s the guy. He’s a plus one, I swear it, he didn’t seem to know either John or Laura when I asked him about it.”
Jess sighed. “You’re being ridiculous. Stop.” She pushed her head back, then rolled her eyes at Josie. “He’s sulking because he wasn’t allowed to add his plus one last-minute, even though we are lucky”—she put emphasis on the word and added a stern look at Tom for good measure—“to be invited to the pre-dinner at all. Besides,” she added, fluffing up her hair, “you only started seeing the guy two weeks ago, what did you expect Laura to say?” Josie felt a smile pulling at her lips, hours of office banter coming back to her.
Tom shook his head, helping himself to the bottle of sparkling water on the table. “When you know, you know.”
“Are you also seeing someone, Jess?” Josie asked.
“Yes, but I decided not to bring him—it’s only been two months, would have been a bit intense.” She gave Tom a meaningful look, but he only shrugged.
“Josie’s with me, right, Jose?”
Josie decided that her safest option, at that moment, was to say nothing and the argument was effectively cut off by the presence of a rather fat man, in his fifties at a guess, looming over their table, then doing a slow lap, apparently unbothered by the fact Josie, Jess, and Tom were all watching him do so. He stopped at the empty space on Josie’s left, peered down at it, then nodded and pulled out the chair.
Jess and Josie exchanged a slight frown as he sat in the seat between them, forcing them both to move their chairs sideways a little to accommodate his bulk. He wiped his shining brow—apparently the effort of sitting down was all too much—and then turned his beady eyes, which looked smaller because of the rolls of fat on his face, on Jess then Josie in turn, without acknowledging Tom. “So,” he said with an incredibly heavy Scottish accent, “ye girls are my dinner companions then, are ye?”
Josie cleared her throat. “Yes, I suppose so.” She became acutely aware of how posh her accent sounded. “I’m—”
He frowned and leaned toward her, his chair audibly creaking with the movement. “What’s tha’? I cannae hear you, lassie, ye’ll have to speak up, I’ve a bit of an ear infection.”
Josie shot a slightly alarmed look at Jess, which she tried to cover with a smile. “Josie,” she said, more loudly than felt comfortable. He nodded, not making her repeat it, thank God. She glanced at the now two empty seats on her right. This man, surely, could not be John’s friend’s plus one—so that explained the last empty seat—but maybe he knew Erin somehow? It seemed a bit of an odd addition to the table otherwise, and Laura wasn’t the type to assign people to tables randomly.
“I’m Graeme,” he said with a nod.
“And, err, how do you know the bride and groom?” Josie asked politely, disconcerted that his attention now seemed to be focused solely on her.
“John’s uncle,” he grunted, helping himself to the bread on the table. Well, if he had, then surely she could too. But her hand was only halfway to the breadbasket when Graeme’s booming voice started up again. “I was supposed to be on tha’ table over there,” he said, glaring at the table in question, which was home to five people around his age, chatting away merrily.
“Oh,” said Josie. “Right.”
“But my wife left me.” He was still glaring at the table, and Josie wondered which of those people was his wife. The petite woman who’d decided to own her greying hair or the friendly-looking brunette with a glass of something in hand? Neither seemed a likely candidate.
“Oh,” Josie said again. She shot a glance at Jess, trying to bring her into the conversation, but she and Tom were deep in conversation about something, Jess pursing her lips at whatever Tom was whispering to her. Great. “Well, that’s…Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Left me fer a younger model,” he said gruffly, his expression twisting in a way that actually made Josie feel sorry for him. He slathered his bread in butter, fixing Josie with a look as he took a big bite of it. “Writer type,” he said, and a tiny piece of that bread came flying back out of his mouth, very nearly landing on Josie’s cheek. She tried to edge away as subtly as she could. “A total roaster,” Graeme continued. Josie nodded, having no idea what he meant by that, but presuming it was some kind of insult. “No money at all. You just watch, she’ll regret it. But I won’t be having her back, ye hear me?” He glared at Josie, as if she’d suggested the opposite.