Chapter 7 #2
‘So, Liberty, have you had a good day?’ I ask, changing the subject and also to distract from the waiters exchanging incredulous glances. I have a feeling that even they have heard of the infamous Greggs.
In an unusual move, Liberty blushes before answering.
Tash, quick to spot the subtle sign, announces loudly, ‘She’s had a very good day by the looks of her.
What did you do? Where have you been? When’s billionaire lover boy getting here?
Me and Sister Kev might need to use the jet.
Cherry, have you got any wipes, love?’ She points to the girls whose faces and hands are now covered in melted chocolate and sugar.
‘I don’t want to get any stains on my merkin. It’s new.’
‘Is that the new Kardashian merkin? I love it!’ Cherry exclaims. ‘See, what did I tell you, Dom? Who needs to tattoo pubes on your foof when you can just slip one of those on instead?’
I zoom in on what I’d assumed was a powder puff but is actually one of those furry thongs that look like a full… well, it doesn’t really matter, I suppose, as long as it’s soft.
While Cherry rummages around in her giant kiddies bag, we wait for Liberty to enlighten us as to where she has been today. Nacho grins at her, his face lit up. She clears her throat. ‘We went down to the Christmas market in Villefranche-sur-mer and then Nacho suggested the big one in Nice.’
‘We’ve heard all about Nacho and his big one,’ says Tash, cackling, elbowing Sister Kevin in the ribs.
‘Nice, was it? Nice? Get it? Nice in Nice, was it?’ Tash is guffawing as though she is hosting Live at the Apollo.
‘You found Nacho’s big one Nice, did you?
’ We all politely chuckle along whilst training our gazes on Liberty and Nacho.
We are very keen to hear how nice it was in Nice.
Liberty slurps at her consommé, busying herself with the bread rolls. ‘You tell them, Nacho. It was your idea.’
Matteo glares at him.
Nacho starts humming and harring as though his command of the language has suddenly waned. ‘Well, eet is very nice. It has the market and the lights and the children’s parque.’ He points his spoon at the children. ‘They will like very much. Lots of chocolates.’
At the mention of their favourite staple the girls begin thumping the table, demanding more sugary treats.
‘And Eddie?’ Tash ventures.
‘He’s coming on… erm, Christmas Eve. The morning of the wedding.’ I notice Liberty is avoiding making eye contact with Nacho. ‘He’ll land the jet near here. So, erm, Tash. Why do you need the jet? You didn’t say.’
‘Kev’s mother is insisting he goes back home on Christmas Day.’ Tash sighs accusingly. ‘To open his presents and help set the table.’
Sister Kevin shrugs sheepishly. ‘What can I say? I’m a mummy’s boy.’
This does not sit well with Tash. For one thing, Sister Kevin revealed to us in Las Vegas that he is only twenty-four and not nearing forty as we had originally hoped.
It has been a bone of contention in their relationship because he is so much younger than Tash and, because his mother had him at sixteen, she is not far off Tash’s age herself.
‘So, that’s our luxury getaway cut short,’ she announces snippily.
‘We’ll have to do the Christmas markets tomorrow.
It’s so inconvenient. You’ll have to give me the low-down, Libs. Did you do any shopping?’
Nacho is gazing at Liberty with uncontrolled mirth, shaking his head. ‘I don’t think that you could call what we did shopping.’ He is quickly shushed by Liberty.
Matteo stiffens beside me. He has been unusually, yet understandably, quiet.
We are all saved by Ged and Liam walking hurriedly into the dining room, glancing around the table to see who is sitting where before sliding silently into their seats.
Liam is clutching a giant manbag to his chest which he places carefully down beside him.
‘You’re both acting a bit odd. Like you have something to hide. You remind me of my last boyfriend. He was an accountant,’ says Liberty, keen to take attention away from herself and her whereabouts and her distinct lack of Christmas market shopping bags.
Liam immediately flutters out his serviette. ‘I’m not the only one acting suspiciously. You and Nacho obviously have something to hide.’
What the heck is going on here?
‘Is this because I didn’t believe the ghost story?’ Liberty expertly deflects, ripping a bread bun in two.
‘Ooh,’ Tash says, her eyes lighting up as she picks up her powder brush and resumes the rhythmic strokes on Clementine and Peaches’ upturned little faces, their eyes fluttering closed. ‘What’s this about ghosts? I’m a bit psychic, aren’t I, Kev?’
‘Bit psycho more like,’ he jokes bravely to us from behind his hand. ‘Although, to be fair, my nan’s a ghost. She says she really doesn’t mind it.’
There’s a beat of silence as, once again, no one seems prepared to pick up the conversational baton from him.
Ged sighs dramatically. ‘Liam, darling, don’t rise to the bait. You thought you saw a ghost. It wasn’t. That’s the end of it.’
‘I thought you had a night terror?’ I’m quick to question. I pick my fork through the foie gras on wafer-thin toast garnished with pea shoots and a single rose-shaped radish that is currently being served to us on delicately ornate plates.
‘Yes,’ says Ged, answering for Liam, which strikes me as a bit odd. ‘A night terror. That’s what I mean. He thought it was a ghost, but it was a bad dream. Liam, honey, pass the butter curls would you, please?’
Nacho, whose head seems to be turning in all directions to keep up, is full of questions.
I wonder which ones are burning uppermost in his mind.
Is he about to reveal what he and Liberty have been up to all day?
Is he going to tackle Sister Kevin on his ‘mummy’s boy’ comment?
Will he ask Tash why she’s dabbing small children with her designer full-bush underwear?
With a troubled expression, Nacho puts down his fork to face Cherry.
We wait with bated breath while he gazes meaningfully into her eyes.
She returns the searching gaze, her lips ever-so-slightly parted as though falling into a trance.
Poor Dom. Cherry has always had a soft spot for this Enrique Iglesias lookalike.
‘You don’t give your children food of any nutritional value?’
Cherry blinks slowly. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘Your children. This food is very bad. In Spain is very different. Health is very important.’ He pats his zero-fat washboard stomach to emphasise the fact.
‘Especially health of children. Isn’t this right?
’ He turns to Matteo, who looks as though he’d rather chew his own arm off and dip the stump in salt than engage in this conversation.
‘Why would you not want the best for your children? Why would you give them this poison?’ Nacho points to the licked-clean, abandoned chocolate lolly sticks on the table with an air of genuine perplexity.
‘Is this what you mean by gentle parenting?’
There follows a clatter as everyone around the table puts down their cutlery. It’s as though a strange, cold chill has enveloped the room. Cherry is emitting serious ‘how dare you question my poor parenting’ vibes while her husband, Dom, is almost choking on his bread roll.
‘Well, Dom?’ she mutters through tight lips. ‘Say something.’
Shitting hell.