Chapter 41
41
We tumbled into the bridal suite. At speed, everyone fanned out, bagsying the sofas and grabbing the armchairs, as if we were playing musical chairs. Even Lenehan was shoving and laughing with the best of us. Those who didn’t bag upholstery colonized choice spots on the floor, resting their backs against the wall.
Only Joey perched on a windowsill, away from the fray; a wild haroo went up, “Armstrong! Get in here on the couch. Shove up there, Mum, and make room for Joey! C’mon, Joey! Loads of space!”
There was no easy way to say this: his presence was generating unease. He’d been on the fringes of our lives, even Lenehan’s, for a long time, but other than Rachel and Luke, nobody really knew him. Not even those he’d slept with. His recent, tragic history—the divorce, the kids going away without him—had been met with sympathy. But his older history—Narky Joey, Joey the Heartbreaker—cast a shadow. Acknowledging these contradictory identities was impossible so the blunt instrument of overenthusiastic friendliness was deployed in an attempt to suppress all confusion.
“Climb in here on the couch, good man!”
Joey let himself be coaxed between Mum and Margaret. Shoulder to shoulder, the trio looked dreadfully ill at ease. “This is great!” Margaret declared, her face gray.
“Fecking great!” Mum agreed, miserably. Then, most anxiously, “Any chance of that wine?”
“Breathe, Mum.” Claire was pouring wine into coffee mugs. (In her panic to start drinking she’d neglected to get glasses.)
“That’s some arrangement!” Mum had noticed the biggest bunch of Joey’s flowers.
“God, yes, they’re gorgeous!” Margaret said. “Who gave you them?”
“Ah. Joey. As thanks for the work I did.”
“Nice one, Joey,” Claire said.
Joey nodded and didn’t meet my eye.
“How did you get a place to stay at such short notice?” I asked Rachel.
“We didn’t. But we brought a tent.”
“It’s March,” Helen said. “You’ll die . We’ll fit you in here.”
“Sweet Jesus, no.” Mum sounded faint. “Luke can’t share with us.”
“What about Brigit’s Airbnb?” I asked. “Gone? How about I go downstairs and plead with Courtney?”
“They’ve already done a big reshuffle and given the last room to Joey.”
“Somehow, on a bank holiday weekend, they found a vacant room for Mr Joseph Armstrong,” I said. “The go-boy strikes again!”
Joey’s head lifted; he gave me a blank stare, then shifted his gaze away.
Panic began racing in my chest. It was obvious I’d been joking. Why was he so unfriendly? During our heart-to-heart on Wednesday night, we’d been so close. Now, less than two days later, you’d think he barely knew me.
“The solution,” Mum declared, “is Claire and Francesca will give their suite to Rachel and Luke.”
“Wait, what?” Claire asked. “Am I still paying for it?”
“We’ll pay,” Rachel clamored. “We will!”
“Come on,” Mum coaxed Claire. “It’ll be much more fun with all of us in here together.”
“Fair.” Claire raised her eyebrows at Francesca. “Fair?”
“Okay.”
“What’s this ‘go-boy’ business?” Helen asked.
Too shaky to explain, I left it to Lenehan. It was seized upon with glee. The Walshes always loved a nickname. Maybe this would mark the end of the lengthy reign of “Narky Joey” and see the dawn of the “go-boy” era?
A quick rummage through the bag Margaret had packed for me revealed it was full of my favorite things. During that unallocated window of time in New York when I knew I was leaving but hadn’t yet departed, I’d gone wild, buying fun, impractical clothes that my previous life had had no space for. Because if not now, then when? If I was too old today to wear a tulle skirt with trainers and a plaid shirt, I’d definitely be too old tomorrow. (In my first job with Ariella, my look was HR-mandated “eye-wateringly kooky.” As soon as possible I’d embraced a life of tailored suits—only to eventually find them too constricting. Clearly, with the tulle skirt, etc., I’d overcorrected.)
Back in the sitting room, talk had moved to karaoke choices.
“Bitta Britney,” Claire said. “Or Beyoncé. Rachel?”
“Luke and I might do—” Rachel stopped.
“?‘Stairway to Heaven’? ‘Black Dog’? ‘Smoke on the Water’?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Rachel smiled mysteriously. “Mum?”
“?‘Don’t Forget Your Shovel.’ That’s a song and a half.”
“They won’t have it,” Helen said. “Thank Christ. Anna?”
I wasn’t sure I could. I felt too upset by the atmosphere with Joey.
“What’s the go-boy’s karaoke song?”
Joey shook his head. “I’ll sit this out.”
“Ah, Joey !” they cried, overdoing the disappointment.
“?’mon, man,” Luke coaxed, lounging back in his seat. “You can do your Agnus Dei song. By—who is it again? Mozart?”
“Bach.” Joey was calm.
“Oh yeah.” Luke smirked. “Bach.”
“Yeah.” Joey smirked back. “Bach.”
They flat-eyed each other.
“From his Mass in B Minor?” Luke said. “What’s that again? Oh yeah! ‘Only the most perfect piece of music of all time,’ amirite?” After an odd pause, they both dissolved into convulsions of laughter.
“What?” Helen demanded. “Private jokes? Oh no, not around us!”
“It’s just…” Luke was still laughing. “Joey’s cultured now.”
“I like a bitta Bach, man, is all!”
“And the rest! Brahms. Mendelssohn.” Narrowing his eyes dramatically, Luke said, “You’ve changed, man. I don’t know you anymore.”
More laughter followed but consternation was afoot among the rest of the group. “The go-boy likes classical music? The stuck-up fucker!”
“ We like classical music,” Mum insisted. “Making us sound like peasants! We love the football song, the Italia 90 thing.”
“I’ve an even better idea for you.” Luke shook his phone at Joey.
“Whatever it is, it’s not gonna happen.”
“Imma do ‘Firestarter,’?” Helen declared. “Margaret?”
“Oh no.” Margaret was adamant. “Karaoke’s not for me.”
“Same,” said Francesca. “I’d prefer to shoot myself in the ears.”
“And me,” Lenehan said.
“More wine!” Claire insisted, refilling mugs.
Over the din, we barely heard the knock at the door. “The toasted sandwiches!” Margaret said, her face very pink. “About time. I’m half-jarred already. We started drinking too early.”
“No such thing,” Claire said.
“But on an empty stomach…?”
“All the better to feel the effects.”
Teagan was our server. Holding a heaped tray, she surveyed the crowded room with dismay. “Where’ll I put this? Oh my God, the go-boy is back!” Then, in a completely different tone. “Hiiiii, Lenehan.”
“Let me take that for you.” Luke slid her a tenner and had barely relieved her of the tray before hordes of hungry Walshes lunged at the food.