46
‘You’ve got a second series, though, right?’ Dev whooped as Joe nodded.
‘They’re announcing it over the final credits. God knows when, mind you. Rufus has got a pilot for something with Michael Keaton and a role in the Stranger Things spin-off. That goes no further, obviously,’ he said, looking at a group of people without a hotline to the news desk of Variety.
Roisin had been able to withstand ten minutes of Dev on the genius of episode two of Hunter because Gina had gamely protected her with, ‘No spoilers, Dev! I’ve not seen it yet!’ which reduced him to detail-free superlatives.
‘Got the last one recording!’ Dev said. Of course. Tonight was the finale. They were missing it.
Joe looked at Roisin from under his brow, twiddling his fork. He’d be unsure if she’d seen it yet and he also knew raising that question was a kamikaze mission.
Only when Dev got on to his stag do and wedding again, did Roisin push her ravioli around her plate in quiet agony. An event that Joe Powell across the table might well be attending with his next girlfriend. That’d be fun.
If he turned up at all, of course.
Was the other reason Roisin had agreed to ‘think about it’ earlier this week purely a result of the base motive of flattery? She’d spent a year thinking she was going to be let go of, by someone with options. It was obvious Joe was a considerable catch. His declaring her worth to him had been too gratifying.
Dev was extolling the benefits of hopping over to Palm Beach in a hired Chevy truck when Roisin spoke up, unable to take the dissonance any more.
‘Heads up that I don’t think, with his work situation, Matt can afford Miami,’ Roisin said, hoping to both do Matt a favour and start the process of conveying: we are all disquieted by the price tags lately. Team No Reindeer Moss.
‘What are you, his mum?’ Joe shot back, trying to be flip and landing hard.
‘Yeah, I was going to say,’ Meredith said, both rescuing and ignoring Joe, ‘I’ll probably need to see the total cost of Lake Como before I commit. Our boiler’s gone kaput.’ She looked at Gina. ‘She dresses well to hide it though, hahahahaha.’
‘Vicious witch,’ Gina said, craning to see a waiter. ‘I might have another Aperol. Oh yeah, the boiler. I have some emergency savings I could dip into for that.’
Roisin saw that the necessity of emergency savings dipping had registered with Dev.
‘I can cover flights to take the cost down. It’s no trouble,’ Dev said.
Roisin took a deep breath. ‘Dev, you are the most generous soul alive, but we can’t accept being paid for as a solution. No one wants to mooch off you and live beyond their budget. Can’t do it has to mean can’t do it, or you feel trapped.’
‘The girl with the good hair has a point,’ Meredith said. ‘Hey, why not have TWO stags? Miami and Manchester.’
‘Actually,’ Dev said, shaking the ice in his lime and soda, ‘you may have hit on something, Rosh. Anita’s gone cool on the Lake Como plan, too.’
‘Really?’ Roisin said, realising it was a stroke of luck to have the freedom to discuss it without her present.
‘Yeah. Some of her family have kicked off about the expense and the travelling, and she thinks it’s too complicated. Not least as Hindu wedding guest lists are large.’
‘Would you consider the UK?’ Roisin said.
‘Yeah, totally but … you only do it once, hopefully. I don’t want her to regret it later.’
‘Honestly, cypress trees won’t end up mattering to you,’ Meredith said. ‘Having a huge tear-up and going home happy are the only things that count. Don’t cause endless politics with your cousins – stay here.’
Dev nodded and Roisin could sense him reading the room at last. There was a distinct absence of their exhorting him to stick to Italy, or Miami, and that in itself was surely telling him something.
‘Would you all like it if it was here? My Bolton lot would probably be relieved, too.’
‘We’d love it,’ Gina said. ‘Also, I could afford all sorts of add-ons. Like a contouring spray tan. There’s this guy who’s meant to be like the Picasso of mobile spray tans.’
‘Oh, hark at Lady Gaga,’ Joe said. ‘Is that like when I drew better abs on my Action Man with a felt tip?’
They fell into their affectionate bickering and Roisin was glad they’d dealt with it light-heartedly. It helped that Dev was a man near-incapable of taking offence.
‘Oh, by the way, I’m off to York tomorrow,’ Joe said to Roisin, as the group parted outside. ‘Going to see Mum and Dad for a couple of nights, then London for one, back Thursday.’
Thursday it is then, Roisin thought. It’d be better. Rip the plaster off. An improvement on this limbo, as daunting as it was.
‘OK,’ Roisin said. ‘Have fun.’
‘Ships passing in the night, you two, aren’t you?’ Dev said, chortling, and no one knew where to look.
Roisin came through the door into the lights-dimmed pub, saw Matt and her mother, and screeched.
‘It’s like’ – Roisin had to lean on the wall to get her breath back – ‘like walking into a Cold War Steve artwork or something.’
‘Coldplay who?’ her mum said.
Lorraine was sitting at a table, hair gathered up into a green casino croupier’s visor, a vape stick jammed in the corner of her mouth, counting what looked like raffle tickets. The jukebox was serving Bryan Ferry: ‘Slave to Love’.
Matt was behind the bar, Meatball the cat balanced on his shoulder, straining dark liquid from a steel shaker into coupe glasses.
‘How on earth did you get that much cat onto your shoulder?!’ Roisin said.
‘Years of practice,’ Matt said. ‘Want a Manhattan with us? McKenzie secret recipe.’
‘Ooh, yes please.’ Roisin shrugged her jacket off. ‘Mum, you’re allowing this insolence from Meatball?’
‘Keeps the horrible thing off my floor,’ Lorraine said.
‘How did the shift go?’
‘Amazing. They LOVE him,’ Lorraine said, casting a look of pure adoration up at Matt.
Third drink made, Matt lifted Meatball down from his shoulder. The cat walked round the bar, straight to the door and batted it with a paw to be let out.
Roisin leaned over and opened it for him.
‘Yes, off you go, you ungrateful swine, to whoever’s fool enough to keep you the rest of the time,’ Lorraine said.
‘That was how she always said goodbye to me,’ Roisin said to Matt, who laughed as he set both their Manhattans down.
‘Same time tomorrow, Mr Ball!’ Matt called.
‘Oh, it’s that shitting fête and the annual humiliation next Sunday. A week tomorrow,’ Lorraine said to Roisin. ‘Please say you’ll be here for that, Rosie. Grace Peters has got Imogen visiting, so if my daughter’s not present, it’ll be another thing to lord over me.’
‘Shitting fête?’ Matt said.
‘My mother was convent-educated,’ Roisin said. ‘The annual village fête for a nominated charity. All three pubs decorate their gardens and serve Pimms, and there are games and so on. Mum hates it, as we tend to make less than everyone else.’
‘Oh, I love a challenge like this. We’ll smash it,’ Matt said. ‘What about a guess-Meatball’s-weight game? Little pair of scales?’
‘You’re not even joking, are you?’ Roisin said. ‘Oh, and Grace Peters: Grace is a very attractive divorcee about town, and Mum’s principal village frenemy. Has a lovely big cottage up on the high street.’
‘Came into her looks late, like Carol Vorderman,’ Lorraine said to an entertained Matt. ‘Goes on girls’ holidays constantly with her huge alimony payout and tags it GALIMONY,’ Lorraine said. ‘Rubbing my face in the fact that Kent left me potless.’
‘Narrator: Grace was not, in fact, thinking about Mum at all,’ Roisin said, and Matt grinned. ‘Imogen is her daughter, same age as me, qualified GP. I’m a teacher, so right now we’re even, unless one of us gets married and pulls ahead, in this game that only exists in my mother’s head.’
‘No, you’re not even. Imogen’s single and my son-in-law is famous, so Grace can chew on that,’ Lorraine said.
Roisin and Matt shared a look.