Chapter 2 #4
‘Because you can be damn sure they know you. And they aren’t paid so much they wouldn’t be tempted by the nice fat bonus they’d get from a newspaper for a story about you and your Class-A nosebag.’
‘Oh… right. Sorry.’ He cleared everything away and shoved it into his pocket. ‘Love the lollipop look, by the way. Very cool.’
‘Thanks.’ Will chuckled. It was impossible to stay angry with Owen for long. As he was about to head for the top table, Owen got up, took Georgie’s hand and made for the door.
‘Owen,’ Will pulled him back, ‘the gents’ loo.’
Owen turned and smiled ruefully at Georgie. ‘Sorry, babes, won’t be long.’
Fiona was watching the proceedings sadly, looking as if she wished she was the one being invited to join Owen in the loo.
Will felt like telling her she had no reason to be jealous, but he knew that wasn’t true.
Any girlfriend of Owen’s would have to get used to playing second fiddle to Georgie Holland.
She and Owen had a connection that went way deeper than sex.
As Owen left the room, Will stood in front of Georgie with his arms folded, glaring down at her. ‘Don’t even think about following him,’ he warned her.
Georgie looked mutinous.
‘Come on, give me a break.’ Will urged.
‘Sorry, Will.’ Georgie sagged, relenting.
‘You know that stuff’s no good for you anyway. I thought you’d stopped.’
‘I have – more or less.’ She evaded his eyes.
Will glanced at Summer, who spread her hands and raised an eyebrow helplessly. He sat down beside Georgie.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Okay,’ she said, drawing patterns on the tablecloth with a finger.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ She looked at him this time, smiling shakily. ‘I just miss the tour, you know?’
‘I know.’
Georgie was the only one in the band – possibly the only person in any band – who was happiest on tour.
She loved the way they all lived in each other’s ears on tour buses, in hotel rooms, on flights.
She loved the fact that there was always someone around if you got the night horrors.
But, then, she rarely got the night horrors in the topsy-turvy days of touring because they stayed up all night and slept in the day.
It was easier sleeping when it was bright.
‘Well, we’ll be going to Tuscany soon.’
‘I’m really looking forward to that.’ She beamed. ‘It’s a brilliant idea.’
Fiona was looking rather lost, Will observed.
He didn’t envy anyone trying to infiltrate the tight-knit gang of four that was Walking Wounded.
It wasn’t that they were hostile to outsiders; they simply didn’t need them.
They were a self-contained unit, never more relaxed and happy than in each other’s company where nothing needed to be explained or justified.
Both sets of siblings were the product of one-parent families, Georgie and Phoenix (née Peter) having been raised by their father after their mother had died, Owen and Rory by their mother after their father had walked out.
They had grown up next door to each other, united by poverty and a blistering hatred of their respective fathers.
The Cassidy brothers hated theirs for having walked out, leaving their mother to fend for herself and two small children, while Phoenix and Georgie hated theirs for sticking around to inflict his drunken violence on them – and worse, Will suspected, in Georgie’s case.
When the three boys decided to start a band, they hadn’t given Georgie any choice about being part of it.
She was presented with a set of drumsticks and a teach-yourself-drumming book and ordered to learn.
Then they had plonked her in the band where they could keep an eye on her and stymie any chance she might have of a love life.
All three were fiercely protective of her.
Will often thought the way they stood on stage was symbolic of their relationship, Georgie perched on her drum-riser, locked away behind her huge kit, with Owen and Rory ranged in front of her, wielding their guitars menacingly, and Phoenix in front, staring everyone out defiantly.
Musically, Georgie was the weakest link in the band.
In the early days, her drumming had been decidedly ropey and several record-company executives had suggested replacing her.
Instead, they had found themselves replaced, while Georgie was sent for more drumming lessons.
She would never be one of the greatest drummers in rock, but anyone who knew the people involved was aware that Walking Wounded was about a lot more than music.
It was a lifeboat for all of them, and they weren’t about to throw one of the family overboard.
‘Go on, do your best-man thing.’ Georgie smiled at him now. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘Knock ’em dead, Baldy,’ Owen said, as he passed Will on his way back from the loo.
* * *
Grace’s sister, Iris, no respecter of cool, had planted herself in the empty seat at the Walking Wounded table, showing the same blithe disregard as they had for the seating plan.
She hadn’t bothered to consult it. She knew exactly the sort of boring old fart Helen would have considered a suitable dinner companion for a sixty-something widow such as herself.
Helen meant well, but these boys looked much more fun and more her kind of people.
Tessa was gawping at her now as though Iris was a bug she had found in her salad.
Owen seemed amused, though. ‘Hi, I’m Owen.’ He extended his hand, eyes twinkling.
Such a beautiful boy! Iris thought. If only I was forty years younger.
‘You look familiar, dear,’ she told Tessa. ‘Have I seen you on TV?’
Tessa brightened, deciding the old bag wasn’t so bad after all. ‘Yes, you probably have. I’m Tessa Bond.’
Iris smiled vacantly at her. ‘Oh, you’re not who I thought you were,’ she said.
‘Who did you think she was?’ Owen asked. He had clocked the mischief in the old dear’s eyes.
‘What do you call that woman who does the topless gardening – you know, with all that frizzy hair?’
Georgie blew bubbles into her beer, while Owen roared laughing.
‘She has some man’s name – Jim or Fred or something,’ Iris continued.
‘Charlie Dimmock.’ Tessa was puce with rage.
‘Oh yes, that’s the one!’
Owen thought he might be in love.
‘I don’t look anything like Charlie bloody Dimmock!’ Tessa fumed.
‘Tessa doesn’t do topless gardening,’ Owen explained helpfully. ‘She presents a game show on TV. And she has a diet book coming out next week.’
‘It’s not a diet,’ Tessa explained, with a rictus smile. ‘It’s more of a healthy-eating plan for life. Dieting is such a negative concept – all about depriving yourself. My plan is about making positive permanent changes to your eating habits.’
‘That’s interesting.’ Iris yawned. ‘Do you follow this diet yourself, dear?’
‘I don’t diet. It’s a healthy-eating plan. And, yes, I do follow it.’
‘Poor you,’ Iris said, as she slathered an inch of butter onto her bread roll. ‘I’m lucky – I’ve always been able to eat whatever I want without putting on an ounce.’
‘Fair play to you, missus.’ Owen grinned at her.
‘I’ve always felt sorry for chubby girls who have to diet all the time – it must be such a bore. And it makes you a boring person, too, doesn’t it?’ She was addressing the whole table now.
Tessa was literally lost for words, her mouth flapping open like a fish’s, her face a mask of unbridled fury – a lesser woman than Iris would have cringed.
‘I am not chubby.’ In fact, Tessa’s weight-loss credentials amounted to nothing more than a brush with bulimia and a couple of fad diets that had seen her go from a slim size twelve to an almost anorexic size six.
‘No, of course not,’ Iris agreed. ‘Your diet has obviously worked wonders – you’re a great advertisement for it.’ She smiled condescendingly at Tessa. ‘I’m sure you’ll sell tonnes of books.’
Owen was roaring with laughter. The daft old bat was priceless!
Undaunted by Tessa’s dagger looks, Iris proceeded to introduce herself to everyone. ‘I’m Rachel’s aunt, on her mother’s side,’ she explained grandly.
‘Who’s Rachel?’ Owen whispered to Rory.
‘Fuck knows!’
‘This is Rachel’s wedding we’re at,’ Tessa spat. ‘That binge you were all on for the past three days was the stag party.’
Owen fixed her with a cold stare. ‘It wasn’t a binge. I do not binge. This,’ he said, raising the bottle of Jack Daniel’s to Tessa, ‘is a drinking plan for life.’
* * *
With the endless speeches, toasts, presentations and cake-cutting out of the way, the bopping and table-hopping began in earnest.
‘Ugh, that was interminable,’ Kate groaned, when she found Freddie. ‘If I don’t get to bed soon I’ll go insane from sleep deprivation.’ Alcohol and adrenalin had carried her through so far, but now she was starting to crash. ‘D’you think anyone noticed I fell asleep during the speeches?’
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘No… What are you getting at?’ Kate didn’t like the way he was looking at her. ‘Freddie – what?’
‘Oh, nothing. It’s just that when Will was talking about the beautiful bridesmaid, everyone turned to you and you were sort of…’ he hesitated, grinning.
‘What?’
‘Well… face down in your dinner.’
‘Oh my God, Freddie!’ Kate covered her face with her hands.
‘You looked cute! Didn’t you notice everyone laughing when you woke up?’
‘Yes, but I thought Will had just said something funny.’
‘He said some very nice things about you.’
‘Oh, he had to,’ Kate said dismissively. ‘It’s in the best man’s book of rules to say the bridesmaid’s beautiful even if she’s like the back end of a bus. And don’t get excited when he comes for a duty dance either, because that’s all it is. I wish he wouldn’t – it’s so humiliating.’
‘At least you got to sit at the top table with him – the divine creature,’ Freddie waved at Will. ‘I had Tina, who was sulking because I wasn’t Phoenix, and some woman who went on incessantly about her yeast infection.’ He shuddered extravagantly.