Page 36 of Me and Mr. Darcy

It feels like a game of chicken.

‘Cheers,’ I reply archly, picking up my pint and steadfastly meeting his gaze.

I mean, c’mon. How much stronger than Jägermeister can this stuff be?

Quite a bit, actually.

Ten minutes later I’m chatting to Ernie and Maeve when my lips start feeling a bit funny. It’s the strangest sensation. A bit like when I go to the dentist and he gives me an injection to make my mouth go numb.

‘. . . and that’s Theresa. She’s a bonny lass. Nearly nineteen now, I’ll be damned, and studying to be a nurse . . .’

And I’m finding it hard to concentrate. Ernie’s produced pictures of his grandchildren from his wallet, but I can feel myself zoning out.

‘. . . and little Thomas, only six and already a rascal. Do you have grandchildren, Maeve?’

‘Um . . . no, no, I don’t.’

Maybe I should try to mingle, meet some people my own age. Yeah, that sounds like fun. I peer woozily around the bar. Hmm, saying that, everyone here seems to know everyone already. It could be kind of tricky. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Go up to a complete stranger and tap them on the shoulder?

Someone taps me on my shoulder.

I twirl round unsteadily and come face to face with a tiny, ebullient blonde wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and a disarming grin.

‘Um . . . hi.’ She gives a little wave, then stuffs her hands into the pockets of her combat pants. ‘Your friend told us you’re staying up at the Old Priory . . .’

‘My friend?’ I repeat, puzzled.

‘Yeah.’ She nods, gesturing over to Spike, who’s now deep in conversation with a tall, shaven-headed guy.

‘Oh, well, I wouldn’t call him a friend exactly,’ I confide.

She looks triumphant. ‘I knew it!’ Dipping her head to hide her face behind her hair, which I can now see has all these tiny little braids woven in it, she leans closer and hisses, ‘I said to Lee, there’s no way those two are just friends.’

Er, what?

‘I could just tell. Straight away.’

The cider has dulled my reactions so it takes me a moment to realise she’s completely misunderstood.

‘I’m like that, you know. I can just read people.’

‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean—’

‘I’m Caroline, by the way.’

‘Oh, hi, I’m Emily.’ I smile, concentrating hard on appearing sober. I’m fast realising why this cider got its name.

‘Friends call me Cat. Like Cat Deeley, you know, on the telly—’ She breaks off and tuts loudly. ‘Bloody hell, I’m such a dummy. You probably won’t know who she is, will you? Being from America . . .’

‘Actually, she presents some show in the States.’

‘Does she really?’ Cat greets this news with such genuine, wide-eyed fascination you’d think Cat Deeley was a personal friend. ‘That’s great. I really like her. And she’s so pretty. In fact I wish we shared a bit more than a name.’ She lets out a snort of laughter and quickly covers up her nose with her hand. I notice she’s got a little tattoo of a star between her thumb and forefinger.

‘Yoah, Cat.’

We’re interrupted by a loud yell from across the pub and I turn to see the shaven-headed guy standing with Spike over by the pool table beckoning her over.

Cat breaks into a huge smile. ‘That’s Lee, my boyfriend,’ she explains. ‘We’re coming,’ she yells loudly, then turns back to me sheepishly. ‘I’m supposed to be inviting you to join us for a game of pool, but once I get talking . . .’ She rolls her eyes. ‘So, are you up for it?’