The Guest List(25)
No, I haven’t. The twins, Dad’s latest progeny, were not invited.
Séverine simpers, melting beneath Will’s charm. This does not seem likely to endear Will further to Dad. I wish it didn’t matter to me what my father thinks. And yet I stand, transfixed, watching as the two of them circle each other in the small space. It is excruciating. It’s some relief when Aoife comes through and tells us that dinner is about to be served.
Aoife is a woman after my own heart: organised, capable, discreet. There’s a coolness to her, a detachment, which I suppose some might not like. I prefer it. I don’t want someone pretending to be my best friend when I’m paying her to do something. I liked Aoife the moment we first spoke on the phone and I’m half tempted to ask if she’d consider leaving all of this and coming to work at The Download. She might look quite homely, but she has a steelier side.
We make our way through to the dining room. Mum and Dad, as planned, are seated either end of the table, as physically distant from one another as it is possible to get. I’m genuinely not sure if my parents have spoken more than a few words to one another since the nineties and it’s probably better for the harmony of the weekend if that continues. Séverine, meanwhile, is sitting so close to Dad that she might as well be on his lap. Ugh: she may not be far off half his age but she’s still a thirty-something, not a teenager.
Tonight, at least, everyone seems to be on pretty good behaviour. I think the several bottles of 1999 Bollinger we’ve drunk are probably helping. Even Mum is being fairly gracious, acting the role of mother-of-the-bride with aplomb. Her skills as an actress have always seemed to come to the fore in real life rather than on the stage.
Now Aoife and her husband come in bearing our starters: a creamy chowder flecked with parsley. ‘This is Aoife and Freddy,’ I tell the others. I don’t say that they’re our hosts because, really, I’m the host. I’m paying for that privilege. So I settle on: ‘the Folly belongs to them.’
Aoife gives a neat little nod. ‘If you need anything, come to either of us,’ she says. ‘I hope you’ll all enjoy your stay here. And the wedding tomorrow is our first on the island, so it will be particularly special.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Hannah says graciously. ‘And this looks delicious.’
‘Thank you,’ Freddy says, finding his voice. He’s English, I realise – I’d assumed he was Irish like Aoife.
Aoife nods. ‘We picked the mussels ourselves this morning.’
Once we’re all served the conversation around the table resumes, with the exception of Olivia, who sits there mutely, staring at her plate.
‘Such fond memories of Brighton,’ Mum is saying to Hannah. ‘You know, I performed down there a couple of times.’ Oh God. Not long before she starts telling everyone about that time she had penetrative sex on screen for an arthouse film (never got a release, probably now on PornHub).
‘Oh,’ Hannah replies, ‘we feel a bit guilty about not getting to the theatre more often. Where did you perform? The Theatre Royal?’
‘No,’ Mum says, with that slightly haughty tone that creeps into her voice when she’s been shown up. ‘It’s a little more boutique than that.’ A toss of her head. ‘It’s called “The Magic Lantern”. In the Lanes. Do you know it?’
‘Er – no,’ Hannah says. And then, quickly, ‘But as I say, we’re so out of the loop we wouldn’t know anywhere, even if it’s the place to go.’
She’s kind, Hannah. That is one of the things I know about her. It sort of … spills out of her. I remember meeting Hannah for the first time and thinking: oh, that’s who Charlie wants. Someone nice. Someone soft, and warm. I’m too much for him. I’m too angry, too driven. He would never have picked me.
I’m not envious of Hannah any more, I remind myself. Charlie might once have been the sailing club hottie but he’s softened now, a paunch where that flat brown stomach used to be. And he’s settled in his career, too. If I had anything to do with it he’d be gunning for a deputy head position. There’s nothing less sexy than a lack of ambition, is there?
I watch Charlie until his gaze snags on mine – I make sure I’m the first to glance away. And I wonder: is he now the jealous one? I’ve seen the mistrustful way he acts around Will, as though he’s trying to find the flaw. I caught him observing the two of us over drinks. And I felt it again, how good we look together, imagining it through his eyes.
‘How sweet,’ Mum’s saying to Hannah. ‘Five’s a lovely age.’ She’s certainly doing a very good job of acting interested. ‘And how are your two, Ronan?’ she calls down the table. I wonder if it is an intentional slight, not to have included Séverine in her question. Actually – scrap that, I don’t need to wonder. Despite the impression she works hard to convey of bohemian vagueness, very little my mother does is unintentional.
‘They’re good,’ he says. ‘Thank you, Araminta. They’re starting at nursery soon, aren’t they?’ He turns to Séverine.
‘Oui,’ she says. ‘We are looking for a French-speaking nursery for them. So important that they grow up – ah – bileengual, like me.’
‘Oh, you’re bilingual?’ I ask. I can’t help the slight.