While Ralph had been carving the meat, Edie had gone backwards and forwards fetching the dishes of vegetables. Hannah had offered to help but Edie had said no.
The final item was a jug of piping-hot gravy, which she’d placed carefully on the table before sitting down herself.
‘Won’t Ralph have to give up booze? And live on dry chicken and lentils?’ she’d asked, picking up rather late in the day on the marathon conversation. ‘I don’t want to be stuck with an old misery for months on end.’
She’d only been joking, but Jessica had taken her question at face value.
‘Oh no, well, not for the whole lead-up, anyway. It’s best to avoid drinking forty-eight hours before a race because you don’t sleep as well. Alcohol’s terribly dehydrating, too. Before that, though, you can drink in moderation. It depends what you want to achieve.’
‘What exactly does moderation mean?’ Edie had asked, passing Hannah a plate of perfectly carved roast beef and signalling to her to help herself to vegetables. ‘A thimbleful of wine once a week – or half a bottle every night with supper?’
Jessica had looked shocked. ‘Oh! Half a bottle’s too much. I’d say a small glass or two, maximum, and definitely not the night before a long run.’
‘Hm,’ Ralph had said doubtfully. He’d passed a plate of meat to Hannah, who’d picked up a juicy-looking sliver in her fingers and popped it in her mouth. ‘One glass hardly seems worth it.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Hannah had agreed, raising her own glass. Unfortunately, she’d been too quick and splashed red wine on her front, which trickled down her cleavage.
‘Whoops!’ She’d wiped herself with a napkin. ‘Silly me!’
Edie had stared down at her lap to hide her smile. There was nothing wrong with Hannah’s manners in general, but she invariably managed to spill food or drink down herself or someone else at mealtimes. It was quite endearing, so long as you weren’t on the receiving end.
Half expecting Mac to make another sarky comment, Edie remembered glancing in his direction. To her surprise, though, he didn’t seem to have noticed. He’d been in another world, staring into space.
‘Here you go, mate,’ Ralph had said, extending a plate in Mac’s direction. When Mac failed to respond, Jessica, to his right, had given him a nudge and he’d quickly come to.
‘Thanks,’ he’d said, taking the food. ‘Sorry, I was miles away for a minute.’
‘He’s probably dreaming about next weekend,’ Hannah had piped up, seemingly unfazed by the dark red wine now staining her bosom. ‘He’s going to climb Ben Nevis – on his own.’
Ralph, who was still standing over the roast meat, had looked surprised. ‘Are you? That sounds adventurous. What’s brought this on?’
Mac had shrugged. ‘I just fancied doing something different, I guess. One of my clients climbed it recently and said he really enjoyed it. It wasn’t as hard as he thought.’
Ralph had turned to put what was left of the beef on the sideboard. ‘Fair enough.’
Sitting down at last, he’d helped himself to roast potatoes.
‘But doesn’t Jude want to come with you? Or Charlotte?’
They were Mac and Hannah’s children, aged eighteen and twenty.
‘I haven’t asked them,’ Mac had replied.
‘What about Hannah?’
Ralph glanced in her direction and she’d grimaced.
‘No way would he want me! He’d find me a terrible drag.’
Mac had frowned. ‘Not true. Why would you say that? You know you’d hate it.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Hannah had cocked her head on one side. ‘How would I know if I’ve never tried?’
‘You can’t stand being cold. It’ll be freezing at this time of year – probably wet and windy, too. Plus, I’m sleeping in a tent. You’ve never liked camping.’
Hannah had shrugged, before turning her attention to Ralph. ‘You see? I told you. He doesn’t want me!’
Ralph had laughed. ‘I don’t blame him, actually. Sometimes it’s easier doing things on your own.’
