‘What’s so funny?’ I snap.
Willow points her fork at me. ‘You have something on your face.’
I dab my mouth with my napkin, my eyes widening at the scarlet stain on the white linen. At first, I assume it’s lipstick,until I notice the smear of red on my finger. I’ve bitten right through my bottom lip.
Across the table, Willow is still watching me, the faint smirk in place. I have the sudden, irrational sense she knows exactly what I’ve done, and, for a disconcerting moment, I wonder what her next move will be.
38
WILLOW
I check the time on my phone. How can it still only be half past nine? It feels like I’ve been sat here for days, watching Dad and his friends get progressively more pissed. Seriously, watching paint dry would be more fun.
Dad rises unsteadily to his feet and taps his glass with his spoon. ‘I’d like to propose a toast to my trouble and strife, Simone. Only joking, darlin’.’ He blows her a kiss then turns back to us. ‘I knew from the moment we met, almost fifteen years ago, that I’d ask her to marry me. I don’t think she knew she’d say yes till she clocked my bank balance.’
He dissolves into gales of laughter. Simone looks thunderous. I bite back a smirk.
‘To the birthday girl,’ he says, raising his glass.
‘To the birthday girl,’ we all chorus obediently, though I can’t help feeling I’m not the only one going through the motions. I catch Amber’s eye and we share a small, conspiratorial smile.
‘How’s your Kir Royale?’ I ask.
‘Tastes like fizzy squash,’ she says, frowning myopically into her glass, which, I notice, is mysteriously full again.
‘I should warn you, it’s one of Dad’s superpowers.’ I point at the flute. ‘Topping people up before they’ve even noticed they’re empty.’
‘Noted,’ she says, nodding her head a little too vigorously. Her pupils are huge. Don’t tell me she’s pissed too.
Dad bangs his glass again. ‘As is tradition, Dominic, Barney and I will switch seats before dessert to give you delectable ladies a fresh piece of meat to feast your eyes on.’
Everyone groans but does as he says. I end up sandwiched between Amber and Dominic, which could be worse, though Simone, typically, is monopolising Dom and Dad, on Amber’s right, is firing questions about her Open University degree.
Two waiters clear our main course, returning a few minutes later with plates of sticky baklava and ice cream, spiced honey cookies and biscotti.
On the far side of the table, Victoria and Barney are having a whispered row, their faces flushed and angry-looking. Nowthisis more interesting than the Evil Stepmother flirting with Dom and Dad chatting up Amber. I cock my head to listen.
‘…had enough to drink, don’t you?’
‘Christ, who are you, my mother?’
‘Barney!’ Victoria hisses through bared teeth. ‘Give me your glass. You’re practically paralytic.’
‘And you’re being a bitch. But at least in the morning I’ll be sober.’
I tut under my breath. Who does he think he is, Winston bloody Churchill?
‘Right, that’s it. You need to go back to the villa and sober up.’
‘Who was that texting you?’ Barney says, ignoring her.
‘I told you. Dee.’
‘So why the guilty face?’
Victoria’s expression is murderous. This is dynamite. I can’t believe the others haven’t noticed they’re at loggerheads, butthey’re all oblivious. I lean forwards, cupping my chin in my hands.
‘Don’t talk to me about guilt,’ Victoria snarls. ‘When exactly were you going to tell me you’d sunk all our money into Felix’s warehouse development? You’d better be ready to pull it out sharpish if we need to.’
