‘Well, this is nice,’ Jack said as he poured me some white wine, ‘and that prosciutto looks good.’
‘And try the olives,’ Harriet said, ‘they are fantastic. Not like the ones I get from the supermarket which just taste like lumps of putty in salty water. I always put one in my martini after church on a Sunday, and really I don’t know why because they don’t add anything.’
We spent the next few minutes tasting the three wines and comparing our thoughts. The consensus of opinion was that they all tasted very much like wine. And we liked the sweet red wine the least. All the same, the bottles seemed to be emptying and the noise of all of us in the low-ceilinged room grew.
There was a lot of laughter and the group were interacting in a way they hadn’t before. Don was talking with some animation to Evelyn, and at one point stopped and looked at her with new respect, breathing,Omar Shariff? Really?So it seemed her secret was out.
The honeymooners Peter and Paige, who had hardly been seen at all during the trip, were nestled together at one end of a bench, giggling and clinking their glasses together. Considering how much younger they were than the rest of us, I did wonder how much they had enjoyed themselves, but then as newlyweds they probably still saw the world through a different more innocent lens.
Roy was talking quite intently with Craig about changing his car in the near future, and as the self-appointed expert, Craig was enjoying himself talking about aerodynamic drag and brake horsepower.
‘Grey is the most popular colour these days, and don’t ask me why because most of the time they just look like the road. White cars are the safest,’ he said, knocking back his Zaberdi with relish, ‘but then they get stopped more often. Pink is the least popular. I had a neighbour once who had a pink VW beetle. It looked like a blancmange rabbit driving down the road.’
Roy found this hilarious and the two of them roared with laughter.
‘I think I’ll buy some of this white wine,’ Anna said from further down the table.
‘How would you get it home?’ I asked. ‘You’d have to put it in your big suitcase and that’s going to be full of your new clothes, isn’t it?’
She pulled a face. ‘I suppose so. What a pity.’
At that point Tomislav reappeared carrying a tray of little shot glasses which he dumped on the table in front of us.
‘A surprise!’ he said. ‘A happy surprise! Croatian schnapps! This is Slivovitz which is plum and this is Travarica which is – what would you say – herbal. Almost a medicine.’
There was a scattered cheer from some of our number and the glasses were passed along the long table.
‘The plum one is okay, but I wouldn’t want to have the illness that the medicinal one cures,’ I said, pulling a face at the taste. ‘I don’t think I can drink that.’
‘It’s very bracing,’ Marjorie agreed, taking a tiny sip. ‘Rather bitter.’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t be bitter,’ Dawn called across at her, ‘it’s very ageing. My mother always said don’t be bitter, be better.’
Craig snorted. ‘Good at giving advice, your mother, not so good at taking it.’
Dawn flared her nostrils. ‘My mother was a saint; a martyr in fact.’
‘Yes, we know, she kept telling us,’ Craig fired back.
‘Well, I don’t know what’s got into you. Really I don’t,’ Dawn said, standing up and adopting an uncomfortable half crouch because the wooden bench was still tucked under the table, preventing her escape.
The table rocked a little and Craig reached out to steady the bottles. And then he picked up the nearly empty bottle of Novi Poret and looked at it.
‘Good grief, Dawnie. I know what’s got into you. This is nearly empty!’
‘It’s communion wine,’ Dawn screeched, ‘it doesn’t count!’
‘It’s 13 per cent proof! Of course it counts,’ Craig said, wrestling the bottle away from her.
Dawn narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you know about anything? My mother was right about you. She always said you had a stick up your?—’
‘Dawn! Really! Everyone can hear you,’ Craig said, the tips of his ears bright red with embarrassment.
‘Shall we go to the little girls’ room, Dawn?’ Belinda said encouragingly. ‘I’ll go with. And then I think we could do with some fresh air, don’t you?’
Dawn pulled a face. ‘I don’t need you to mind me. You’re always so bossy, Belinda. No wonder your husband behaves like that.’
‘Like what?’ Belinda said, outraged.
