Chapter 21 #2
Teddy gave the coals one more poke. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?’
‘Aren’t you going to clean the trolley?’
‘Ah, yes.’ He smiled at her. ‘Nice to have a little job to do. Especially as it looks like rain up there and I can’t be in the garden.’
‘Rain?’ Rosie looked up at the sky. Yes, there were a couple of extra clouds, but it was still blue. ‘I’ll bring you back a sausage sandwich,’ she promised. ‘No need to panic.’
‘If there’s one going,’ said Teddy, ‘I wouldn’t say no.’
He and Martin hopped onto the wall and back towards the minibus.
Patrick and the rest of the party were quickly changing into their swimsuits.
Was someone invisible if they had a hood up?
She felt invisible as she slipped the rope into her pocket and tried to concentrate on the food.
She actually couldn’t remember ever cooking a sausage on a barbecue before.
They hadn’t been one of those barbecue families growing up, the ones with the dad in the apron and his many marinades and home-made burgers and brioche buns.
Her family had been too busy with the hotel to fooster about with coals and tongs and whatever else.
‘What the flying feck is going on?’ said Grace, in a panicked whisper. ‘What is this, I thought we were meant to be having a pleasant beach barbecue, not a re-enactment from a Mad Max post-apocalyptic nuclear wasteland.’
‘I know, I’m sorry!’ The tables really had turned. Rosie felt humbled. She wasn’t so much an assistant as a liability.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the wedding guests were all heading for the water. And there was Laurence, catapulting himself towards the sea, shouting, ‘CHAAAAARRRGGGGGE!’
After head-bombing into the water, he emerged with a Godzilla-like mighty roar. The other guests were also in the water, making their way in tentatively.
‘He said he was now part of the party,’ said Grace, with a shrug.
‘He didn’t stop talking all the way down in the minibus, giving everyone a guided tour, pointing out landmarks and everything.
We even saw Lucinda on the way and he made everyone cheer out of the window at her.
She almost fell off whatever bench she was on. ’
Rosie and Grace managed to get the table up between them and Grace flicked open the linen tablecloth and laid it over before setting out the glasses. The barbecue was thankfully smouldering and glowing the way it was meant to.
There was a beep from the minibus as Teddy pulled away, leaning out of the window as he drove past. ‘I’ll be back down at 5 p.m. Have a good afternoon, girls.’
‘I brought extra ice,’ Grace said to Rosie. ‘And I have three types of cocktails and the beer keg is in the back of the Land Rover.’
She and Grace set up the bar, and Grace mixed up the cocktails in the three large pitchers she had brought.
‘You lay out the canapés,’ she told Rosie. ‘I’ve got the cocktails.’
In the sea, Laurence was now slamming the water with his huge hands, creating a wave-machine effect. Some of the guests were shrieking and rushing away from him.
‘Does he try to be obnoxious?’ asked Grace. ‘Or does it come naturally to him?’
‘He’s not obnoxious all the time,’ said Rosie.
‘Well, today is one of those days when he is,’ said Grace, drily, looking at him in the sea.
Laurence had now organised everyone into some kind of conga line and they had to walk along the seabed and go as deep as they could.
At the mouth of the harbour, Rosie saw Patrick, his long arms sweeping through the water, his head in and then out of the water.
He was well built, his arms defined, his shoulders broad.
He was the same but finer, in a way. There was something about him, he’d only got more handsome, more attractive.
She watched him for a moment, remembering that summer when they used to head up to Sandymount Strand, leaving their belongings at the edge of the sea and going for long evening swims. The water in Sandymount was shallow for seemingly miles and miles and they would be walking through the water, as it inched up their legs, from ankles to calves, to knees, holding hands all the way, until eventually it reached the tops of their legs and they plunged in.
At this point they were so far from the shore, the people walking in the evening sunshine, eating ice creams, were small toys, miles away, and out here with Patrick it was so peaceful, as though they’d claimed a little parcel of the world, just for themselves. Now they were in two separate galaxies.
Eventually, everyone was on dry land, wrapped in towels, standing close to the gazebo, where Grace was pouring out her new cocktail concoction.
Laurence was talking in his loud way about water temperature and how he’d been taking an ice bath every morning.
The sausages were golden brown and Rosie buttered the buns and placed a sausage in each one.
‘Will you hand them around?’ asked Grace. ‘I’m still on cocktail duty.’
Rosie slipped out from under the gazebo and handed around the plate.
‘Oh, these look nice,’ said Niamh, taking one.
‘I’m starving,’ said Seán, clamping down on one. ‘Delicious. Thanks, Rosie.’
She was aware that Patrick was behind her and finally she turned to face him. ‘Hot dog?’ she said.
And suddenly he laughed and she laughed too. She wasn’t quite sure what was funny or why they were laughing, but he reached out and took one. ‘Thank you. Aren’t you going to have one?’
‘What, a hot dog?’ They laughed again, still neither of them quite sure why they were laughing. ‘I can’t. I’m working. You’re the guests.’
‘Well, I was going to offer to hand them around. Why don’t I do that?’ He was taking the plate from her. ‘Or shall I butter the buns?’
‘You can’t be buttering buns.’
Again, for some reason he laughed, and so did she. ‘Why can’t I?’
‘Because you’re a guest. This is how the hospitality business goes. Guests, staff. Never the twain shall mix.’
‘Well, that’s a shame.’ He held her eye for a moment. ‘Why don’t we make an exception for today?’ He still had the plate. ‘I’ll pass these around. Remember, I work in hospitality as well.’
And he was gone, mixing in with the other guests, lingering with Kate. ‘Thank you, Patrick,’ Rosie could hear her saying. ‘What a good waiter you are!’
There was a sound as though the sky was broken, a crack in the atmosphere, and when Rosie looked up, the sky had changed from grey to black, and then a pause before the heavens opened and the rain began.
Biblical, Noah-type rain, the kind of torrents seen in disaster films. There were screams and shouts as the guests ran for the gazebo, where Rosie was turning the sausages. More of the guests began piling in.
‘My hair!’ shouted one woman.
‘They said the weather in Ireland was all over the place,’ said a woman with an American accent. ‘I didn’t think they meant it would actually rain. I thought they were all exaggerating.’
Rosie found herself edged out of the gazebo and quickly put the barbecue lid over the sausages and ran to help Grace, who was collecting up glasses and plates. ‘Don’t worry, everyone!’ she was saying. ‘This adds to the adventure.’
The gazebo was now listing to one side. The rain thundered down and a kind of slightly hysterical exhilaration had overtaken everyone.
The pitchers of cocktails were handed around, glasses refilled, the keg was on overdrive.
Laurence had even started singing ‘The Fields of Athenry’, to which everyone had joined in.
Grace was racing around and, as she passed Rosie, she grinned. ‘Irish weddings,’ she said. ‘Don’t you love them?’
The gazebo was beginning to rock with the force of everyone trying to shelter inside and Rosie looked up for long enough to see Laurence pulling it down so it didn’t lift any further, but as he reached up to grab a pole, it came away in his hand, and then as he swept it down he whacked it straight on the head of Niamh.
‘Ow!’ She had her hands on her head, her eyes scrunched shut.
As Rosie raced towards her through the rain, Laurence was staggering backwards and somehow managed to swing the pole again, much as he would with a golf club, and this time hit Rosie full force on her head.
Laurence clutched at his arm. ‘Jesus! I think I’ve pulled it out of its socket.’ But the blow had caused Rosie to stagger backwards, slipping on the soaking sand and falling down.
There was a hand in front of her, pulling her to her feet. Patrick. His voice in her ear. ‘You okay? That looked like a fair whack.’
‘No, I’m grand, honestly. Lost my balance.’ She wanted to tell him that she normally wasn’t this incompetent and that normally life in the hotel was a lot more ordered and calm. ‘We haven’t done a wedding before,’ she said, trying to explain herself.
He smiled. ‘It’s all fine, it’s going really well.’
Beside them, Laurence was still moaning, clutching his right arm. ‘I think I’m going to have to go to A & E…’
‘Let me have a look…’ Kate squeezed through the rest of the guests and began pressing Laurence on various points on his shoulder and then quickly lifted out his arm and twisted it right back behind him. He emitted a blood-curdling scream and then silence. Everyone waited to see what would happen.
Laurence looked puzzled, and then amazed, before beginning to smile. ‘My arm!’ he said. ‘It’s better!’
And then the rain stopped, the world born again, and everyone began cheering, rushing from the gazebo onto the sand.
‘More drinks everyone?’ shouted Laurence, lifting the keg of beer above his head and dancing around. ‘May the party recommence!’
And then everyone joined him, moving down onto the saturated sand, their shoes off, and Laurence placed the keg on the ground.
Everyone kept dancing into the sea, still singing and cheering.
Rosie smiled at Patrick, who was looking from her to Laurence and back again, as though he was confused about something.