Chapter 27
27
‘Dinner on a boat,’ Ethan says, clapping his hands together.
‘Didn’t you say you’d been on a cruise?’ I check.
‘Yeah, a cheap one with a fake window,’ he reminds me. ‘For a cheap-o holiday. This is a boat just for dinner – dinner on a boat.’
Okay, he’s adorable when he’s excited in a dorky way.
‘If you want to fit in, pretend there isn’t even a boat there,’ I tell him as the taxi pulls into wherever it is you board a boat to dinner in these parts.
‘Well, I don’t want to fit in, do I?’ he reminds me.
‘An excellent point,’ I reply as we get out of the car. ‘So, it’s just like we talked about, okay?’
‘Got it,’ he says. ‘Just be the worst version of my best self.’
‘Are you two the late ones?’ a man in a white shirt (who looks like he works here) calls out.
How are we late? We came here exactly when they told us to, in the car they booked for us.
‘I guess?’ Ethan calls back.
I hook my arm with his as we approach.
‘Ethan, no matter what I say, do your worst,’ I tell him. ‘Even if it seems like I’m chickening out – because I always soften, and then they always do something that makes me wish I hadn’t.’
‘It would be my pleasure,’ he replies.
It turns out that the place you board a boat to dinner is like a snap from a Sydney postcard. At first it’s a slow reveal – blink and you’ll miss it – and then it’s there, all at once, Sydney Opera House, and the Sydney Harbour Bridge, and they’re somehow bigger than I imagined them, although that’s probably because I’ve only ever seen them in photos or videos.
‘Dinner on a boat,’ he whispers to me, nudging me with his elbow.
Boat feels like a very small word for a very big yacht. God, it does look inviting though. The buzz of activity, the pretty lights, the unreal backdrop. The only thing that could ruin it really is the people – and you know they’re going to give it their best.
‘Do you know all of these people?’ Ethan asks as we walk along the gangway to board the yacht.
‘I know as many people as you do,’ I tell him. ‘Actually, no, that’s not true. There’s the chief bridesmaid, Eleanor, and cousin Tiggy should be here somewhere.’
‘Do we like either of them?’ he checks.
‘Eleanor, no, she’s a supervillain,’ I tell him, in no way exaggerating. ‘Tiggy, we love. Don’t get me wrong, she’s as bourgeoisie as the rest of them. She’s a boarding-school brat, she’s never worked a day in her life, and she’s probably had to leave a holiday for this holiday. But she’s actually nice. She loves a drink and a dance and a roll around with a “working man” – so watch your back. It is, of course, fine for Tiggy to be a party girl because she’s on a champagne budget.’
‘You’ve got to love that double standard,’ he says.
Now that we’re on board – the two late ones – the gangway comes away from the yacht. There’s no turning back now, we’re trapped. I supposed there’s always jumping overboard but hopefully it won’t come to that.
‘Welcome drinks,’ a server says, presenting us with a silver platter loaded with various cocktails. He’s wearing a black tuxedo which I think is funny, because if this were the wedding then he would look like a guest. Not on a boat though, on a boat it’s (very) smart casual.
I’m wearing a navy strapless midi dress with silver accessories – yes, silver, not white gold or platinum, which to this lot is as bad as turning up in clown make-up. Ethan, accidentally, is almost perfectly coordinated with me. He’s wearing a navy suit with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looks seriously fit in a suit, like he should be in an advert for aftershave – a suit which he assures me he already had in his suitcase, just in case, but I’m not sure I believe him.
I take a drink from the tray. Ethan takes two.
The server doesn’t bat an eyelid – he’s either not being paid enough to care, or being paid more than enough to let everyone do whatever they want.
‘You made it then,’ Bea says as she greets us. She’s wearing a cream twinset – very Queen Camilla chic – while Dad wears a dark green suit.
‘Ethan,’ Dad greets him. ‘How about you and I take a stroll, have a chat?’
Tell me my dad isn’t dad-ing right now!
‘Yeah, okay, cool,’ Ethan says.
He polishes off one drink, so that he only has one to carry.
‘I like to get blotto at these things too,’ Dad tells him as they walk off.
Unbelievable. So, apparently it’s fine for men to drink too much.
‘Best behaviour tonight, Lana,’ Bea warns me. ‘Remember what we talked about.’
Ha. I remember. It’s the main thing that’s motivating me right now.
Finally alone, I knock back my drink.
Normally I’d worry about a boy talking to my dad – or more specifically my dad talking to a boy – but with Ethan I have nothing to lose. Not just because we’re not a real couple but because, well, the worse the conversation goes, the better it is for what I’m going for.
I walk across the deck, running a hand along the gleaming silver railings. It isn’t the only thing that’s glittering – everyone here is dolled up to the eyes, in their diamonds and expensive watches. Everyone is catching the light.
Most people I don’t know, some look vaguely familiar, but generally it’s the same bunch of people who rarely give me the time of day – although at Dad’s sixtieth birthday one of his friends did tell me to top up his glass before asking if I offered extras (which simultaneously boosted and destroyed my self-esteem).
Oh, but he’s new though. I haven’t seen him before. A man in his late thirties maybe. He’s tall and slender, with hair to his jawline that he wears tucked behind his ears. I can tell that he’s one of this lot from his posture and – and this is going to sound stupid – the angle of his chin. He’s good-looking, and I don’t usually find anyone who associates with this lot good-looking, so he really is something special. He’s eating a canapé, treating it almost as though he were kissing it, sucking the leftovers from his thumb when he’s finished.
‘Drooling over the earl, you horny bitch,’ a familiar voice whispers into my ear.
I’d know that foul mouth anywhere.
‘Tiggy,’ I say, turning around to give her a squeeze. ‘Oh my God, it’s been forever.’
‘Totes,’ she replies, giving me a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ve been – oh, you know, I don’t know. Who cares? We’re here now.’
Tiggy looks amazing, as always. She’s leggy and slim, and she often mentions how much she spends on hair extensions but you would never know. She used to (I assume) joke that it was cocaine that kept her svelte, although her cheeks have sucked in, in that way you typically see if there has been… pharmaceutical intervention, shall we say. Who cares though? She looks fantastic. She’s unbelievably forty next year – but no one is allowed to talk about that. Here’s me, whining that my milestone birthday is going by unacknowledged, and there she is, threatening to stab anyone who mentions hers.
‘How have you been?’ I ask.
‘Fucking amazing, as per, but don’t change the subject,’ she says, playfully slapping my arm. ‘Are you perving over the earl?’
‘Is he actually an earl?’ I ask curiously.
‘The Earl of Fuck Me He’s Hot,’ she jokes. ‘Yes, that’s Lord Beaumont Cunningham, the Earl of Wrancaster.’
‘He is a hot earl,’ I admit.
‘Is it the good looks or the title that is doing it for you?’ she grills me.
‘It was the looks at first but, now you’ve said the title, it’s kind of sexy – who knew titles were sexy?’
‘Me,’ she sings, raising her hand. ‘Do you want introducing to him?’
‘Oh, no,’ I say quickly. ‘No, no, no.’
‘Let me introduce you and you won’t be saying no, no, no. You’ll be saying yes, yes, yes.’
Tiggy takes me by the hand, dragging me to the deck below.
‘I know, I’m just awful,’ she says, not sounding all that cut up about it. ‘But trust me.’
I trust Tiggy in many ways – like with secrets, for example – but when it comes to her actions I would say I actively fear her. I like a drink and a good time but I don’t have the spectacular confidence (or the even more spectacular bank balance) to be dangerous with it. She does.
‘Beau, you miserable ass, how is it you haven’t tracked me down to say hi yet?’ she practically shrieks at him.
‘Tig, come here,’ he commands.
Oh my God, the way he greets her, the way he places his hand on her lower back as he kisses her on the cheek – it makes me want to bite my lip.
‘You’ve met cousin Lana, right?’ she asks him, knowing full well he hasn’t.
‘Oh, another Pemberton girl?’ he replies, smiling at me.
I just smile back. Why am I not saying anything?
‘Guilty,’ Tiggy says on my behalf. ‘The only single Pemberton girl left, if you’re still looking to take a wife – add another surname to the collection.’
‘Hilarious, Tigs,’ he says in a voice that makes Hugh Grant sound kind of like an extra in EastEnders . ‘Well, Lana, we haven’t met, but we’re family.’
As he says this he leans in to give me a couple of these charismatic kisses. He holds the small of my back with his hand as he pulls me close.
‘ Like family,’ Tiggy corrects him. ‘No blood relation – not that that bothers our lot, hey?’
I appreciate her pointing that out quickly, lest I realise I was accidentally lusting over a cousin.
‘And no, Tigs, no wife as of yet,’ he tells her.
‘The burden of being an earl,’ she replies. ‘Having to find the perfect good girl and… oh, excuse me, I’ve just spotted a fitty I need to go and sink these dagger nails into, before someone else does. Catch you both later.’
Oh, shit, she’s leaving me alone with him. She’s leaving me alone with the bloody earl.
‘Your cousin is fun,’ he says with a Prince Charming smile – I’m surprised his teeth don’t sparkle and make a little ding noise as he does it.
‘She’s great,’ I reply, finding myself changing my accent, stripping out the Yorkshire charm that I have (unlike the rest of my family), instead going for some kind of newsreader-style RP that makes me sound closer to my family than I actually am.
‘Do I detect a slight hint of an accent?’ he asks curiously. ‘Have you worked abroad? Canada, perhaps? I’m picking up on something.’
A thinly veiled cover-up of Headingley’s finest.
‘Oh, I’ve been all over,’ I reply. ‘You know how it is.’
‘I do indeed,’ he says. ‘Tiggy and I are the same age – not that any of us are allowed to disclose such a classified number – and suddenly everyone is always telling me it’s about time I settled down.’
‘Oh, me too,’ I reply. ‘Especially with Seph tying the knot.’
‘That just means you’ll have your pick of the bachelors,’ he points out.
‘Well, there is that,’ I say with a smile.
God, he’s beautiful. Ethan is broad, muscular and rugged, but the things that make Beau attractive are completely different qualities. He’s more subtle, more refined, with more beautiful features. I suppose it just depends what you’re into. I always thought I was more into the Ethan type but, I don’t know, now that I’m here, chatting to an actual earl – maybe a Beau is for me. Plus, as much as I want Ethan – or think I do anyway – that just can’t happen. I need to get that out of my head and crushing on someone new could be the cure I need. Actually, that’s a great idea, because if I throw all my energy into crushing on someone else – someone I could actually date without causing a forest fire or a landslide – then it will keep things between me and Ethan strictly business and I won’t go slipping into old habits…
‘We shall have to look out for one another at this wedding – single solidarity,’ he tells me.
‘I’d like that,’ I reply with a smile.
He’s almost too beautiful to look at, I have to avert my eyes, but it’s as I glance sideways that I notice who Tiggy is talking to, the fitty she – what was it? – wanted to get her dagger nails into. Shit, it’s Ethan. Oh, God, he’s just her type too.
‘I, ahem, I need to step away, and assist Tiggy with something, briefly,’ I say, almost every word sounding like not quite the right one.
‘Of course, go ahead,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you later, I’m sure.’
‘Absolutely,’ I tell him.
I walk off slowly, as sexily as I can, until I’m out of his line of sight and then I do the most unladylike run back over to where Tiggy and Ethan are chatting.
‘Hey,’ I say, rocking up to them, trying to play it cool, although I can’t quite hide how out of breath I am.
‘Lana, Lana, Lana,’ Tiggy says, waggling her index finger at me. ‘You kept lovely Ethan here a secret, didn’t you?’
‘I, er…’
‘You know Lana,’ Ethan tells her. ‘She doesn’t like to make a big deal out of things.’
‘No, I know,’ Tiggy replies seriously. ‘Nor do I.’
She gives me a look – one that says she’s dying to know more.
‘Well, I need to go and get a top-up, but I look forward to hearing more about the two of you later.’
‘Of course,’ Ethan tells her. ‘See you later.’
Okay, so I know that once we have a private moment together I can tell Tiggy that Ethan isn’t with me with me (although the thought of the two of them getting it on really does make me want to jump overboard), and I think she already knows I have a bit of a crush on Beau, so she probably already knows that things aren’t as they seem.
Wow, I really am not usually one to go for the kind of guys I meet at these family events but I could make an exception for an earl, right? However, as we all know, I am not the kind of girl that an earl would go for. Maybe I should be? I mean, come on, I’ve got the family name. How hard can it be?
‘Ethan, listen, while it’s just us, I need to tell you something,’ I say in hushed tones.
‘What’s that?’ he replies.
‘We need to abort the mission,’ I tell him.
He just laughs.
‘I’m serious,’ I reply. ‘There’s been a change of plan. I don’t want to cause any trouble, at all, I want to be good – for my sister.’
The second part is a line but the first part is absolutely what I need to do, if I want to woo an earl.
‘This is a test, isn’t it?’ he says with a knowing grin.
‘No, it’s really not,’ I insist.
‘Yeah, okay, sure,’ he replies. ‘Like I’m falling for that one. Don’t worry, you’re going to get what you sort-of paid for – what your family paid for, I guess.’
Okay, so now isn’t the time or the place, but I can explain it to him, that the plan really has changed.
I came here thinking I was going to make a mess. Now, I guess I need to clean up my act.