We were all anxious about potential fireworks between Theo’s divorced parents. It was hard to know where to put them because they both need to have prominent positions and be near my parents – the in-laws forming their own new unit. Our solution was to have Granny Maria sitting between Theo’s parents, acting as a neutral buffer.
She’s Switzerland with dentures.
I’m wearing a little black dress and my red suede heels, not because the occasion requires it, but because I want to look nice for Mark. I’m surprised by how much I’m looking forward to seeing him, even though it’s only been a day since we got back from Cyprus. A lot seems to have happened in a short space of time, including Yan finding out what Mark and I did in his garage all those years ago. I keep a watchful eye on Yan incase he changes his mind and goes all Mediterranean and must-protect-my-womenfolk on Mark’s ass.
As it turns out, I’m sandwiched between Theo and Pen, and Mark, one of the last to arrive, is sitting opposite me.
‘You look good, Nella.’
‘You don’t look bad yourself.’ That’s the understatement of the year. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a crisp white shirt. God, he can wear the hell out of a suit.
He doesn’t look like he particularly wants to chat with me. My disappointment surprises me. Did we leave our easy-going friendship in Cyprus?
‘How are the plans for Venezuela coming along?’ It’s not that I want to dwell on the fact that he’s leaving, but I want to keep the conversation from flagging.
‘Fine, fine.’
I wrack my brains for another question. ‘How is your Spanish? Yan mentioned you were trying to teach yourself.’
He smiles stiffly. ‘I never seem to find the time. Most of the Spanish I’ve picked up is from being forced to listen to Enrique Iglesias and Thalia because Brigitta is such a fan.’
It jars that he’s talking about her in the present tense and using her name. Didn’t he previously refer to her as ‘my ex’? Does he assume they’ll get back together? The idea doesn’t sit well with me, even though I’ve got absolutely no claim on him.
‘How are things with Rich?’ he asks mildly, and the penny drops.
He’s smarting that I left him hanging at Heathrow when Rich turned up.
‘I haven’t seen him. And anyway, we’re just colleagues now.’
If he’s happy to hear it, he doesn’t show it. Then he’s asked a direct question by Theo’s dad – probably heart-related – and any hopes of further chat between us vanishes.
While we’re waiting for the starters to be cleared, Dad goes to the toilet and when he comes out again, he’s walking very slowly.
‘Are you okay, Dad?’ I ask, going up to him.
He grimaces. ‘Something I ate didn’t agree with me.’
He’s holding his side.
‘Do you want to go home?’
He widens his eyes. ‘No, of course not. I’m fine. But go and see if your mum has any Rennie.’
Before I can get back to the table, Mark intercepts me.
‘Is everything okay with your dad?’
‘It’s just his tummy,’ I say.
‘That’s too low for the stomach.’
His eyes are focused on where Dad is clutching his side.
‘His guts, or wherever. He thinks it’s wind.’
Mark is frowning and I suddenly feel cold.
‘What are you worried about – his appendix?’
