Chapter 3
‘Home, sweet home.’ It was the next morning and Kate sighed with relief as she kicked open the door of the top-floor apartment she shared with Freddie in the trendy Temple Bar area of Dublin.
She was in a lather having hauled her bags up the four flights of stairs but was greeted ecstatically by Didi and Gogo (formally Vladimir and Estragon), their two cats, who wound in and out of her legs, purring.
‘Hi, guys.’ She bent to stroke them. ‘I missed you too.’
They were really Freddie’s cats (‘The only kind of pussy I’ll ever have,’ as he was fond of introducing them). He had found them as stray kittens and brought them home, naming them after the two tramps from Waiting for Godot, which he had been working on at the time.
‘Freddie!’ Kate called. ‘Are you home?’
‘We’re in here,’ Freddie called from the sitting room.
Who’s we? Kate wondered.
Before she had time to investigate, Freddie bounded out to her.
‘Your sister-in-law’s a genius!’ he whispered excitedly, casting his eyes towards the sitting room.
‘Helen?’ She looked askance at him, but he merely nodded.
She glanced warily in the direction of the sitting room.
‘Is she giving you a master class in napkin-folding or something?’ Admittedly, Helen’s swan napkin was pretty impressive, but it was hardly the sort of thing that would have Freddie wetting his kecks.
‘No.’ Freddie laughed, then mouthed, ‘She fixed me up.’
‘Oh! Well done you!’ Kate clapped him on the shoulder.
‘Well done, Helen!’
‘So when did this happen?’
‘Well, you know I was supposed to be on the table that was taken over by Walking Wounded?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, Helen mentioned there was supposed to be another gay bloke on it, so, knowing Helen, I guessed he was a set-up for me. I found out who he was and went to check him out surreptitiously. When I discovered he was drop-dead gorgeous, I introduced myself. The rest, as they say, is pornography.’ He licked his lips lasciviously.
‘Wow! Helen must be really good at this matchmaking stuff. I wouldn’t have credited her with being able to pick your type.’
‘Me neither. But that’s the best thing about him – he’s not my usual type at all. He’s actually nice.’
Kate hadn’t seen Freddie so excited about someone for ages.
‘His name’s Ken,’ he babbled. ‘And get this – he’s a solicitor!’
‘A solicitor!’ Kate mimicked Freddie’s awestruck tone.
‘Well, I mean, it’s so grown-up! It’s like a real job – he wears suits to work and everything.’
‘Imagine!’ Kate mocked.
‘And he’s got a briefcase!’ Freddie continued, unabashed.
‘Are you sure he wasn’t just saying that to get you into bed?’
‘If he was, it worked.’ Freddie picked up Kate’s bags and carted them to her bedroom. ‘When you’ve sorted yourself out, come and meet him,’ he said, dropping her luggage. ‘Then we’re all going for a long, boozy brunch and a post-mortem.’
‘Oh, Freddie, I can’t.’ Kate grimaced. ‘I literally haven’t a bean, and all my plastic’s maxed out.’
‘Don’t worry about that.’ Freddie dismissed her objections. ‘It’s not as if I don’t owe you one. Besides, I’m sure you could use a few champagne cocktails to shake off the post-wedding anticlimax.’
‘True,’ Kate conceded.
‘And we can’t let the wedding of the year pass without a thorough autopsy, can we? So, when you’re sorted, two gorgeous men are waiting to take you out.’
* * *
In the sitting room, Kate found Freddie sharing the couch with a handsome, rugged, square-jawed type. He was wearing a soft denim shirt of Freddie’s that brought out the intense blue of his eyes. He certainly seemed a more likely prospect than the parade of deadbeats Freddie usually dragged home.
‘Ken, this is Kate, my flatmate. Kate, Ken.’
‘Hi.’ As they shook hands, Ken’s eyes lit up with recognition. ‘You were the bridesmaid,’ he said.
‘Oh, and I thought my disguise was perfect.’
‘Almost.’ It was like Cinderella in reverse, Ken thought.
She was infinitely prettier today and seemed about ten years younger, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, her long dark hair falling loose down her back.
With her face devoid of makeup, her clear green eyes sparkled and her skin was glowing and flawless.
‘You played a blinder,’ he said. ‘Snoring through the speeches was a nice touch.’
‘Thanks. I thought the whole smiling-graciously-looking-dignified thing had been done to death.’
‘Well, you certainly avoided that pitfall,’ Ken remarked. ‘It was a novel approach.’
‘Okay, let’s go,’ Freddie said, having glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll be late if we don’t get a move on.’
‘That shirt suits you,’ Kate commented to Ken, as they went out.
‘You should keep it,’ Freddie said. ‘I’ve never worn it. Can’t think why I bought it – must have been having a lumberjack moment.’
* * *
It’s good to be back, Kate thought, as they strolled along the winding, cobbled streets, with the peaceful sound of the Christchurch bells ringing in the background.
She loved living in this part of the city.
It was always busy at night, with its proliferation of clubs, bars and restaurants, but she liked it most of all on quiet Sunday mornings like this, when it had a lazy, muted feel.
Tourists spilled out of hotels and clubbers drifted home or sat at outdoor cafés eating breakfast, still in their party clothes, slowly coming down from the highs of the night before.
The quiet was broken by the high-spirited laughter of a few young girls in veils, obviously refugees from a hen party, who burst onto the street with a clatter of shrieks, and were gone, disappearing into the morning like wraiths.
She had missed this morning-after life – the late Sunday breakfasts that she and Freddie spent woozily picking apart the depredations of the previous night, piecing together hazy details, or swapping stories of disastrous dates.
Kate had always secretly enjoyed these post-mortems more than the dates and the clubbing, though there had been less of either for her since she had been going out with Brian.
Now she listened to Freddie’s stories with a mixture of relief that she was no longer putting herself out there and envy that he was still having adventures.
The restaurant was packed, buzzing with animated chatter and the clatter of plates as white-aproned waiters slid between the tables bearing huge plates of food or colourful jugs of Bloody Marys and Bellinis.
‘So, tell all,’ Freddie said, when the waitress had taken their order. He propped his arms on the table and fixed Kate with an expectant stare.
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she said. ‘Sounds like you two are the ones with the tale to spill. I had an uneventful night.’
‘Oh come on! Last I saw you, you were about to cop off with Will but Brian turned up – and then you copped off with him anyway,’ Freddie said.
‘I wasn’t copping off with Will,’ Kate protested, glancing warily at Ken.
‘You don’t have to be discreet,’ Freddie said. ‘Ken knows everything. I’ve filled him in – so to speak.’ He wiggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.
‘He knows everything about what?’
‘About you and Will.’
Oh great! Kate thought.
‘Don’t look so worried! You can trust Ken,’ Freddie assured her. ‘He’s a solicitor.’
Ken hooted at this. ‘It’s the first time I’ve heard that one!’
‘Will was just giving me a lift home,’ Kate insisted.
‘I was so afraid you were going to say that.’ Freddie sounded disappointed.
‘Well, it’s true.’
‘Never mind,’ Freddie perked up, ‘here are the drinks. It’ll all come out over a few cocktails.’
‘Honestly, Freddie, there’s nothing to come out,’ Kate sucked her Cosmopolitan through a straw, relaxing as the zingy-fresh sharpness of the vodka surged through her veins, at once soothing and invigorating.
‘Will really just gave me a lift home. I was too comatose to do anything. Besides,’ she added sadly, ‘I fell asleep while we were dancing and I drooled on his shoulder – not exactly sexy, is it?’
‘I guess not,’ Freddie conceded.
They were interrupted by the waitress arriving with their food. Kate ploughed into smoked haddock and poached egg on a bed of creamy mashed potato. ‘God, this is divine.’
‘Better leave some room,’ Freddie advised. ‘Aren’t you going out to eat with Brian tonight?’
‘Oh, it’ll be one of his bran-mash places,’ she said. ‘You know, cheap and cheerless, not a Cosmopolitan in sight.’
‘Well, last night proved one thing,’ Freddie said, bolstered by the food. ‘You’re still hung up on Will.’
‘I am not!’ Kate objected, somewhat half-heartedly.
‘Oh come on! You’ve just admitted you couldn’t even have a dance with the bloke without drooling all over him.’
‘It wasn’t that kind of drooling. I’m over him,’ she asserted, unconvincingly.
‘Liar!’ Freddie scoffed. ‘She’s not over him, you know,’ he said conversationally to Ken.
‘Okay.’ Kate felt defeated. ‘Maybe I’m not. Maybe I never will be, but so what?’
‘So what!’ Freddie was aghast.
‘Yes. Okay, if Will asked me to marry him tomorrow and have his ten kids, I’d say yes.’
‘I knew it!’ Freddie crowed.
‘But the same is true of Bradley Cooper, and, guess what – it’s not going to happen!’
‘Well, not with Bradley,’ Freddie agreed. ‘He seems to be untameable,’ he added wistfully.
‘Not with Bradley and not with Will either,’ Kate said firmly.
‘So you and him are history?’ Ken asked.
‘Not even that, since we never were in the first place.’
‘What about the time you shagged him?’ Freddie enquired.
Kate shook her head. ‘One drunken shag doth not a Summer of Lurve make. Anyway,’ she added, more brightly, ‘none of that matters now. I love Brian.’
‘Well, I think you’re settling.’
‘I’m not. You just don’t like Brian.’
‘I don’t dislike him,’ Freddie prevaricated.
‘Yeah, you do.’
‘Okay, I admit I’m not his biggest fan, but it’s not that. You may love Brian, but Will is the one.’
‘Like Keanu Reeves in The Matrix,’ Ken added.