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‘A large glass of Chardonnay, please.’
‘Spritzer?’
‘Not today, I’m in need of neat anaesthetic.’
He leant against the bar. ‘Is my company that bad?’
‘The jury’s still out,’ she said, averting her gaze when he glanced over.
His grin indicated he wasn’t offended.
‘Like you feel any differently?’
‘You’re growing on me,’ he said, with a good-natured shrug.
‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
He nodded to the restaurant. ‘Shall we eat?’
The waitress led them to a small table near the open fireplace. It was an intimate setting, with candlelight and soft music playing in the background. Their knees touched under the table, and despite shifting position several times, she gave it up as a lost cause when it became clear there was no way of avoiding his close proximity.
They each picked a different starter and main course, sampling potential options for the wedding meal in two weeks’ time. Customer reviews for the food were glowing, and the descriptions sounded fancy enough for a celebration, but hearty enough not to leave anyone hungry. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be disappointed.
‘Tell me about your parents,’ Matt asked, as they waited for their starters to arrive. ‘I sense things are tense. Any dramas likely to unfold at the wedding?’
Beth took a long swig of wine. ‘Why else do you think I’m drinking?’
‘Is it really that bad?’
‘You saw it yourself. How much worse could it be?’ Beth rested her arms on the table. ‘My sixty-five-year-old father left my mother for a twenty-eight-year-old exotic dancer from Essex called Tiffany. Not that I have anything against Essex, exotic dancers or women called Tiffany – except when they cause my usually sane mother to turn into the she-devil possessed.’
‘Your mother didn’t take the break-up well?’
Beth removed her glasses and wiped the lenses with a napkin. The heat radiating from the fire and the man next to her had made them steam up. ‘Calling it a break-up implies there was some level of involvement on both sides.’
‘There wasn’t?’
‘Sadly, no.’ Beth slid her glasses back on. ‘My father came home from work one Friday evening, ate his dinner, packed a bag and announced that he was leaving my mother for…the love of his life… and walked out, leaving her with a string of unanswered questions, a broken heart and the washing-up.’
‘Ouch.’
Beth took another swig of wine, hoping to ease the tightness in her chest. ‘My mother has gone from endless crying to excessive drinking, followed by hell-hath-no-fury-scorn like you’ve never seen. And now we have her latest behaviour, which you saw the other day, and for which I apologise again.’
‘It’s hardly your fault.’
‘And all the while, my dad’s been strutting around like a teenager on heat, flaunting his new bit of stuff and failing to take any responsibility for his actions.’
‘Parents, huh?’ He gave her a sympathetic look.
‘The real high point? My father announcing that he wanted Tiffany at the top table at Megan and Zac’s wedding. I thought my mum was going to spontaneously combust – she threatened to boycott the wedding. She’s now agreed to attend, but only on the proviso that Tiffany isn’t on the top table. So we get the pleasure of watching the three of them sparring like something from ofThe Witches of Eastwick.’
Their starters arrived, much to Beth’s relief, as the alcohol was loosening her tongue. She was divulging far more than she should be about her wayward family, but there was something calming about Matt that enabled her to open up. Maybe she was being naive, but he’d trusted her with his phone passcode, so it seemed only fair to share something personal, too.
Suddenly hungry, the conversation lulled into silence as she tucked into her Cornish Camembert, and Matt devoured his mushroom pâté.
The restaurant was busy, with all the tables filled, but it didn’t feel claustrophobic or noisy. Beth found the low chatter of the other couples and the glow from the open fire strangely comforting. She was finally able to relax. No doubt the wine was helping. Matt had ordered a bottle, and she was on her second glass already.
Matt finished his starter and sat back in his chair, his eyes turning inquisitive as he reached for his beer. ‘Can I ask you something?’
