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‘Quick, let’s order before Dad spots the deconstructed puddings on the menu,’ Poppy teases.
‘Bloody hell,’ Dad mutters.
It’s not long before our food arrives and Joe’s tasked with persuading the kids to come inside and eat.
While he’s out, Mum leans across conspiratorially. ‘He’s lovely, darling.’
‘Yes, thanks, Mum, it’s really nice to have a friend at school now. Lila and Sid are—’
‘Never mind Lila,’ Mum cuts in, and I suspect this is the first and only time in her life she will ever utter that combination of words in a sentence. Even Poppy stops what she’s doing in shock.
‘He’s lovely,’ she says again, this time with a theatrical wink.
‘Steady on, Ingrid,’ Dad protests.
‘Well just look at him, Charles. So handsome! And such a good father. He was very open about what happened to his wife while we were chatting earlier. Poor soul. But still …’ Out of the corner of my eye, I note that Poppy is finding this hilarious. ‘Have you thought that maybe it’s time for you to get a new boyfriend, Sophie?’
I make a sort of ‘meh’ noise while she eyes me like an eagle.
‘Did I tell you that Auntie Belinda has a friend with benefits these days? They met at a surfing club for the over fifties on the beach in Fremantle. He’s an Australian called Scott. They’re not a couple but they get together to meet each other’s sexual needs.’ Mum’s saying this as if I might not be au fait with the concept of ‘friends with benefits’. If she graduates to ‘fuck buddies’ though, I’m officially emigrating.
‘Maybe you and Joe could have a go at that?’ Mum suggests. Dad has picked up a newspaper and is now studiously ignoring the rest of us. I’ve convinced myself that the only way through this cringe-fest is via another bloody Mary.
‘Great idea, Mum,’ Poppy, the devil, chimes in.
I shake my head at her in silent protest.
‘What’s a great idea?’ asks Joe, turning up right at the worst possible time.
‘What’s a friend with benefits?’ asks Lila, her little hand holding Joe’s.
Mum has the good grace to look mortified, Poppy is almost bursting at the seams with glee and apparently I am temporarily paralysed so it’s left to Dad to stand up, scoop Lila up into his arms and deploy the ultimate distraction tactic. He pulls a pound coin from behind her ear and hands it to her. Then he does the same for Sidney and by the time we’re all sat down again, it looks like all inappropriate chat has been long forgotten by everyone but me.
By the time we’ve finished our mains, Poppy has turfed me out of my seat next to Joe and is engaging him in a very in-depth discussion about the use of nature in Shelley’s poems. I’ve tried to catch Joe’s eye a few times, just to make sure he’s happy talking literature on his day off, but he seems genuinely engaged with my little sister’s conversation. Poppy, meanwhile, is hanging off his every word. She’s even making notes on the back of a menu for her next poetry group night.
‘How was everything, guys?’ booms a hearty voice.
I turn to see the monolith of a man that is Akoni Jones standing by our table. He looks even bigger within the frame of this cosy village pub. He’s wearing a white shirt and jeans, although the shirt looks like it’s trying to break free from his muscle-clad body, and he’s so tall that his head almost brushes the exposed beams on the ceiling. We all have to tip our heads up to look at him.
‘Akoni, dear!’ greets Mum, taking charge. ‘You already know Sophie, of course, but everyone else meet Akoni Jones, The Royal Oak’s new celebrity owner.’ Akoni protests the celebrity part but Mum just shushes him and introduces our group by name, explaining that she and Dad met him when they came for the pub’s reopening a while back.
Joe gets up to clap him on the back. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘Joey! Bro!’ Akoni is thrilled and I am tickled pink to hear Joe being referred to as a bro.
Poppy clasps my hand. ‘Jesus. He looks like Jason Momoa’s more intimidating big brother,’ she exhales, running a tongue over her lips. ‘Is this the southern hemisphere rugby superstar Mum’s been banging on about? He’s divine.’
Oh no. Poppy with a crush is a certified disaster zone.
She gets up to shake his hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Akoni. I would love to see your tackle.’
‘Poppy!’ Mum chastises.
Akoni looks startled. ‘Well, the only thing I tackle these days is menu planning.’
‘Perhaps we could have a chat about this deconstructed nonsense then,’ Dad says to an intake of breath from the rest of our table.
Mum starts fussing. ‘Charles! Leave the poor man alone. He’s clearly busy.’
