Chapter 16
‘This is a big moment. Ready?’ Henry picked up his pint, waiting for me to do the same. ‘One, two, three…’
I took a sip and, for a moment, I was speechless. Would sewage taste better? The liquid at the bottom of garbage cans? The ‘perfume’ Caitlin once made out of rose petals steeped on her windowsill for four weeks?
‘Oh God no.’ I put my pint down, wiping my mouth with my hand. ‘Wow.’
‘Not good?’ Henry was smiling.
‘I’m trying to think of what it tastes like? Like something died. And rotted, and then they liquidised it and put this frothy substance on the top. That’s just window dressing, making it look pretty.’
He laughed. ‘And you’re meant to be Irish?’
‘Irish-American. I just assumed it would taste better.’
‘Stay there,’ he said, ‘I’ll get you another drink.’
But Charlie had stood up and was calling along the table to us. ‘I’m going in,’ he announced, making his way over. ‘What will you have?’
‘Glass of white wine…’
‘I’ll go,’ said Henry.
‘No…’ Charlie put his hand on Henry’s shoulder, pushing him gently back down. ‘I’ve got this…’ He turned back to me. ‘Californian? You’re a woman of discernment, I can tell. Henry?’
‘I’m grand, thanks.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Charlie, turning to go to the bar.
Henry looked at me, his eyebrows raised, as though not knowing quite what to say.
‘He’s obviously one of those men who thinks going to the bar is a flex,’ I said.
‘Perhaps.’ Henry smiled. ‘So, Guinness is a disappointment, what about the rest of your holiday? Has it begun to improve?’
‘It’s turned into a bit of a working vacation,’ I said.
‘But I haven’t had one in a while so I’m still trying to remember quite what they involve.
My brother Johnny and I spent every summer with my Granny Annie in her beach house.
And it was never quite warm enough, we spent all day at the edge of the ocean, covered in sand, teeth chattering, dealing with jellyfish, the threat of sharks… ’
‘Sounds character-building.’
‘Johnny used to do the Jaws music all the time,’ I said. ‘I’d be there, filling my bucket or whatever, wave-jumping…’
‘I used to love that.’
‘Yeah…’ I smiled at him. ‘Me too. Anyway, and then Johnny would begin with the music. And he can’t even sing.
Duh-nuh. Duh-nuh… dun-nuh-duh-nuh-duh-nuh…
and I’d scream, like absolutely petrified.
And then we’d go back in for dinner later and Granny Annie would have this big bowl of warm water, like a baby bath, and Johnny and I would soak our feet, get off all the sand, and then Granny Annie would have warmed towels for our feet.
And we’d be absolutely ravenous. The two of us ready to gnaw our own arms off and we’d have Irish stew or something, even though it was summer.
But we loved it. And the next day, the same, and the next, and the next, until summer was over.
The journey back into Boston was always awful, that sick thud in my stomach, summer over again for another year.
So we never did the Caribbean thing, you know, mai tais on the beach, one of those lounger things.
The water being warm. Shrimp cocktail for lunch. ’
‘And you don’t do that now, even though you can?’
I laughed. ‘I think, fundamentally, my brain was rewired, and a vacation is only a vacation if I’m cold and uncomfortable.’
‘You may not like Guinness,’ he said, ‘but your definition of a holiday is definitely Irish. It’s the cold beaches, the gritty sand between your toes. The melting ice creams. It makes us the people we are. Hardy. Able to withstand plague and pestilence…’
‘…Dysfunctional families,’ I said.
‘Is yours dysfunctional?’
‘Yours isn’t?’
He laughed. ‘Not particularly. I mean, we have our moments. But what’s wrong with yours?’
‘Oh, the usual dysfunction, my parents have been married eight times between them. Dad’s about to marry a woman only five years older than me. Even though she’s actually very sweet.’
‘Maybe your parents are just incurable romantics?’
I laughed. ‘I’ve never thought of it being like that.’
‘Here we are!’ It was Charlie with my glass of wine.
‘Thank you, that’s so kind of you.’
‘My pleasure.’ He smiled at me. ‘By the way, Kerry-Anne, my father’s having a birthday party at our house tomorrow evening.
It’s going to be big. Champagne, food, a band…
weather’s going to be fine. Come along?’ He cast a quick look at Henry.
‘You’re invited too, Henry. It’s going to be a lot of fun.
’ Charlie flashed me a smile. ‘I mean, I don’t suppose you are too busy. ’
‘Not really…’
Henry was studiously concentrating on something on his phone.
‘Well then.’ Charlie seemed to feel it was all sorted.
‘8 p.m. at our gaff on Chestnut Lane. It’s the biggest house on the street.
’ He smiled his handsome smile, and then his eyes flicked over to Henry, as though gauging his reaction.
There was something between them and I couldn’t work it out. ‘What about you, Henry?’
Henry looked up. ‘No, you’re grand. I’ve got a few things on.’
He and Charlie made eye contact for a moment and I felt a little sorry for Charlie, who seemed to be working so hard and yet failing to impress Henry.
But Charlie didn’t look abashed in any way.
‘Busy reading a book or counting the millions you’ve made from the boatyard this year?
Huh?’ Charlie looked at me, laughing, but Henry was smiling blandly back as though he was barely listening.
Charlie bounced back to his seat.
And it was just me and Henry again. ‘What’s the beef between you two?’
He laughed. ‘Oh… many things. Many, many things. Inherited generational distrust. And very recent behaviours. It’s a Sandycove thing.’
‘But I thought this place was sweetness and light, everyone getting on. Everything so quaint and everyone so kind, like in a book or a movie.’
He laughed again. ‘Oh, we’re still humans, there are secrets and lies here as much as any place. But don’t worry, Charlie will be fine. My grandmother has known them all her life and she says the Richmonds always win.’
‘I know families like that, back in Boston,’ I said. ‘The Bartletts, for one. My boyfriend’s, I mean fiancé’s, family.’
He raised an eyebrow at my clarification. ‘A fiancé? And why are you away from him?’
‘A few reasons.’
‘How long have you had this fiancé?’ He seemed amused and I could see why, it was a ridiculous word, my clarification was silly and made me sound like Audrey Callaghan and her Moldovan prince.
‘Only a few days,’ I admitted. ‘I am very recently fiancé-ed.’ We both laughed. ‘Are you, Henry, fiancé-ed?’ I put on my best period-drama accent.
‘I don’t think anyone would have me,’ he said. ‘Well, anyone I would want to be fiancé-ed to.’ He paused. ‘So how come you’re here and your fiancé…’ – he put on a funny voice – ‘…is over there?’
‘It’s a long story, but basically I am trying to decide whether I want to remain fiancé-ed.’
‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Already?’ But he didn’t look remotely sorry for me and I realised that he was the kind of person who had faith in others, as though he knew I was going to be okay.
‘Yes. Already.’
He waited for me to say more, but even I had some self-respect left and decided that unburdening myself to this very nice and charming man would be, at best, off-putting and, at worst, horrendously inappropriate.
It was nice to have a platonic companionship, something I never had back in Boston; there were either clients or potential boyfriends, nothing in between.
Having a fiancé somewhere in the world meant I wasn’t in the mindset of wondering if this was a potential romance.
Henry and I were released from all that pressure.
‘Why don’t you come to Charlie’s party with me?’
Henry shook his head. ‘Sorry. I can’t. It’s Patch. He’s a social wallflower. Completely unable to make small talk.’
As we laughed, Patch seemed to know we were talking about him because his tail began wagging furiously, a big grin on his face, as he looked from me to Henry and back to me.
‘I think his small talk is excellent,’ I said.
‘I can understand exactly what he is saying. Yes, Patch, I quite agree. Walks are far more fun than parties.’ I turned back to Henry.
‘You know, I think I would prefer to have Patch as my plus-one at parties than a lot of humans I know.’ Even my fiancé, I thought.
The thought escaping before I had even realised it.
But it was true. Milhouse was one of those people who hated parties and people.
He only liked his friends who he had had since school, and he particularly hated coming with me on work events.
The fact that he had joined me at Caitlin’s memorial the previous week had been nothing short of a miracle and had endeared him to me.
But perhaps my bar was low, like a reservoir after a long, dry summer.