‘Yes.’ Netta’s hand hovered over her nose self-consciously. ‘It’s nice to see you again too.’
‘Show me.’ Don gently pulled Netta’s hand away from her face. ‘Clean as a whistle. And we haven’t hadthatkind of party for quite some time now, Mr Maplestone,’ he added. ‘How are you, mate?’
Mo’s shoulders softened a touch as Don passed him a glass and motioned for him to pour himself a wine from the bottle of pinot on the bench. ‘Not bad, man. This all looks amazing,’ he said.
‘Like I said to Netta here, I hope you like pizza, because if you don’t, you’re going to be hungry.’
Mo grinned. ‘Who doesn’t like pizza?’
‘Psychopaths!’ shouted Carly again from the top level.
‘Does that mean you won’t be having any then?’ Mo called back.
‘Ha. Ha. Ha.’ Carly’s head appeared over the mezzanine railing.
‘Hi, Carly.’
‘Hi, Mo.’
‘Tell Miles to come down, Carly,’ called Don. ‘It’s time to make the pizzas.’
The kids clattered down the stairs and were introduced to Netta while Mo scooped them into hugs. Carly was wearing her favourite jeans again, Mo noted. Don’s laundry skills had obviously passed the test.
Don handed everyone a pizza tray and they all crowded around the bench to pile them up with toppings.
‘Rhona, can you help me take them out to the pizza oven?’ asked Don when they were done.
In a flurry of sequins and denim, expertly carrying three trays each, they made their way through the huge glass doors to the back garden, where a brick woodfire oven sat squat in the far corner, already burning.
Mo looked at Netta across the bench. She was midway through a decent gulp of wine. ‘Did you know I was going to be here tonight?’
She swallowed hastily. ‘Yes, Rhona did mention it.’
‘The thing is, I’m glad you’re here,’ he said, suddenly nervous. ‘There’s something I want to ask—’
‘Christ, it’s cold out there!’ interrupted Rhona, bustling back inside. ‘My nips are so frozen they could poke holes in my kaftan, seriously!’
‘Muuuum!’ cried Carly. ‘You’re so embarrassing!’
Rhona ignored her and motioned for Mo and Netta to join her in the front room, where a fire was roaring away within the marble fireplace and the Christmas tree filled the air with the fresh scent of pine.
‘So, I’m guessing you’re wondering why you’re here, Netta,’ Rhona said as they settled themselves on the overstuffed couches.
‘I thought I was here for dinner,’ said Netta with a nervous laugh. ‘Is there another reason?’
Rhona shifted her gaze to Mo. ‘Mo?’
He stole a quick glance at Netta. She looked decidedly nervous. He took a deep, here-goes-nothing breath. ‘The thing is, I need a date for the Christmas Eve Gala,’ he said.
‘Okay …’ answered Netta. ‘And what does that have to do with me, exactly?’
‘Well, it’s just that …’ Mo steadied his voice. ‘I know this might be weird, but I was hoping maybe you would come with me. As my partner for the night. Not for free, of course. I’d pay you.’
Netta’s eyes popped.
‘It’s not like that!’ Mo suddenly realised how his proposition had sounded. ‘All you’d have to do is the red carpet and sit next to me during the show,’ Mo said. ‘Nothing else. Kind of like an escort, I guess, if you wanted to put a label on it, but less weird. Hopefully.’
Netta’s face suggested she didn’t think his use of the word ‘escort’ was any less weird than tits on a bull.
