Chapter 8
No word of a lie, dinner is fraught with Liberty jumping repeatedly to Nacho’s defence.
But Cherry used to be a paralegal before motherhood took over her life and isn’t buying any counterarguments.
As if to make a point, she pops upstairs to collect several emergency sausage rolls from her room for Clementine and Peaches to scoff while we await the arrival of the next course, a sumptuous á la carte meal of la dinde aux marrons paired with an eye-wateringly expensive red from Chateau Pétrus.
On her return, the girls collapse into hysterics, almost hyperventilating, as soon as they spy the Greggs bags in her hands.
‘What did I miss?’ she asks, instantly picking up on the tense atmosphere.
We all sit there in silence.
‘Well?’ she asks her husband. It’s more of a command than a request.
Dom crumbles instantly, pointing to Matteo. ‘Matteo told Tash off for vaping at the table three times, but she kept denying it.’ Then Dom swings his finger at Sister Kevin. ‘Then Kev suggested he take a chill pill. Then Matteo suggested that maybe Kev would like to search for alternative accom—’
‘Yes, okay, I get the gist. Two of the three alpha males are chest bumping,’ Cherry says, matter-of-fact.
I feel sorry for Dom because there are currently six males sitting around the table and his wife has just lumped him in with the two camp gays.
‘What I’m hearing is that we’re all tired from travelling,’ Cherry continues, oblivious to his hurt expression.
‘We’re all exhausted from Christmas bloody shopping.
And we’re all adults with eyes who can clearly see when someone is vaping, Tash.
Just go out-bloody-side and do it. It reeks.
I can’t bear the sickly-sweet smell. It makes me want to hurl.
’ She stands defiantly, legs apart, hands on bony hips.
Thank God for Cherry and her no-nonsense approach to parenting. Gentle or otherwise.
As if by magic, Tash’s expression transforms from sullen to cheery. ‘Yeah, okay, hun. You’re right. Sorry, Matteo. Of course I’ll go outside in future.’
Wow. Tash is acquiescing. Without any argument?
Matteo thanks her. ‘I’d appreciate that.’
‘You’re welcome.’ But then she spoils it by winking at Cherry as though to say, Did he really just fall for that?
Oh. My. Word.
Matteo tuts loudly but is denied the opportunity to follow up as footsteps alert us to the two waiters approaching, rounding the corner, wheeling in a trolley laden with covered plates.
They get to work lifting off the silver domes as they place each plate down silently in front of us and wait for us to give a nod of approval.
We sit mesmerised while they deftly whizz around the table serving speedily.
One of the waiters liberally pours out a delicious, aromatic-smelling ‘jus’ onto our plates from an elaborate jug while the other waiter lays out several plates of steaming legumes and crispy roasted potatoes.
‘What’s this?’ asks Sister Kevin in a concerned tone as he spears a brown lump and holds it up for us to examine.
‘A poo,’ announces Clementine, clapping her pudgy hands in delight. ‘Look, he found a poo, Mummy! A poo in the dinner!’
Peaches, eyes wide and blinking, grabs her Greggs sausage roll close like a comfort blanky. Christ, she’ll never eat proper food after this.
The waiter puts a gloved fist to his lips and clears his throat with an appalled expression.
‘This is a traditional turkey dish served with chestnuts, monsieur,’ he adds, studiously ignoring the litter of empty Greggs paper bags, the greasy flakes of pastry marking the pristine white tablecloth and the accusatory shouting that there’s a rogue turd in the food.
‘Our chef is one of the finest in Europe.’ He makes stern eye contact with each of us individually.
‘And after, we will serve les treize desserts de Provence. A collection of thirteen desserts from Provence, known locally for their unique flavours and rich ingredients.’ His tone is firm and joyless.
‘It is one of our culinary specialities here at Chateau Beaumont. Perfect for the festive occasion. You will enjoy it.’
Well, that’s us told.
Matteo thanks him rapidly in French and they embark on a polite discussion which, because my French is very rusty, also sounds like an apology for the fact that the children are eating shite from England and that more than one person around the table gasped thinking the chestnut was indeed suspicious-looking and that this is in no way a snub against the exquisite food they have prepared for us and…
that we are very grateful that the staff have agreed to stay on over Christmas to tend to our every whim and to help us with the wedding without bearing any professional grudges. At least I hope that’s what he said.
I get back to eating this delicious meal and we enjoy one and a half minutes of silence before Clementine barks for her mother to listen to her sing.
‘Not now, sweetie. Mummy’s eating.’
‘Mummy!’
‘Ask Daddy.’
‘No. Daddy’s never any good,’ she whines. ‘Mummy, listen! Pink pony club, la-la-lah-lah… Mummy, listen!’
Clementine glares at her mother, who is busy knocking back another glass of wine while her child is making such a horrific sound.
‘Mummy, Mummy, sing with me!’ She screeches happily into her sausage roll, squeezing it tightly like a microphone, her head swaying side to side, her curly hair bouncing back and forth. Peaches is silently mirroring her movements in perfect synch.
‘Eeeh, pet. It’ll not be long before you two bad gals join the Dollz. Wharra lovely set of pipes you’ve got, Clem. Just like your mother.’ Liberty cackles, pouring herself another glass of wine. ‘But at least you can hit those high notes.’
‘Har friggin’ har, pet.’ Cherry takes the bottle from her to refill her own. She pours one for Dom too. He obviously needs it. I wonder if they are treated to such threatening impromptu singing recitals quite often.
Sister Kevin is awkwardly clapping along even though there is no discernible beat to keep time with.
‘Isn’t Kev really good with children? He’d make a great dad one day…
soon,’ Tash says out of the blue, causing Sister Kevin to choke on a chestnut.
‘Here, babe. Drink this.’ She thrusts her glass of wine towards him.
Sister Kevin refuses it, shock registering on his face as his hands fly to his throat.
Within a nanosecond Tash is on her feet and slapping him gingerly on the back, mindful of her sharp nails.
Liam is our resident first-aider so when he doesn’t automatically leap up to help, I cast a glance his way to see what is keeping him from fulfilling his emergency services brief.
Liam is bending over, oblivious, clearly distracted.
While everyone else is dithering as to what to do while Sister Kevin is noisily choking to death, I duck down in my seat and peer under the table.
I can see Liam pulling out a plastic bag and stuffing the turkey meat into it.
Matteo jumps up to help Sister Kevin, which knocks the table, causing Liam to sit back up.
I catch Liam’s eye. Frowning, I nod towards Sister Kevin, whose face is going crimson even though he now has four people simultaneously slapping him on the back and administering abdominal thrusts while arguing loudly as to which is the better course of action.
Liam scrapes back his chair and hurries over.
‘Move!’ Liam leans Sister Kevin forward, thumping him hard between the shoulder blades with the heel of his hand, and we watch as a chestnut flies through the air to land in Liberty’s glass of wine.
A few minutes later, the shock has worn off, and we are laughing about what a great catch it was, how heroic groom Liam is and what a great story that will make for the wedding speeches.
Liam is barely playing along. He’s busily picking up slivers of turkey from his plate and placing them in a serviette before reaching down to his bag.
Then it occurs to me. Ged and Liam have decided to become vegan!
They must be too embarrassed to say anything because all the catering and the wedding menu feature meat very heavily, even down to the canapés.
It would be impossible to change everything now.
The French caterers, famous for killing and eating anything that moves, would surely be outraged.
‘I think Ged and Liam have turned vegan,’ I whisper to Matteo, subtly pointing to the pair of them poking their forks around their plates as though searching for vegetables to eat.
‘What will we do about the catering?’ I can feel my blood pressure rocketing at the thought of all the upheaval.
We’re not even on top of the jobs on the wedding to-do list as it is, without adding new ones.
‘I’ll have to bring it up at the meeting tonight. Otherwise…’ I trail off.
There is no otherwise option. Thank God we’re having a meeting after dinner – once Cherry has put the kids to bed – to go over the checklist and make a start ticking off boxes so that everything is ready for the big day.
Matteo thinks for a second and gently squeezes my hand under the table. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll talk to Ged and Liam. If that’s the problem, I’ll help sort it. Even if it simply means we hire in extra catering to give guests more choice.’
Of course.
Matteo. Reliable. No-nonsense. Ridiculously capable.
I gaze adoringly at him. A soft sigh of relief escapes my lips, causing my solutions-focused, forward-thinking heart-throb to grin back.
He leans towards me to murmur in my ear.
‘You’re so easily pleased.’ His nose skirts my ear, sending a flirtatious tingle down my spine.
I blink slowly at him as a contented smile spreads across my face.
The world could be crumbling and all I’d want is for him to be by my side, his nose in my ear.
I’m making it sound weirder than it needs to be.