“I think your public wants you,” Zack says, looking amused. “See? You’re still the supermodel of the restaurant world.”
I throw a tea towel at him, and walk through. The dessert plates are still out, but I can deal with those tomorrow. I’ll be up at the crack of dawn anyway, off to the fish market, so a bit of final cleaning is no big deal.
As soon as I’m back, I get a round of applause and a standing ovation. They are easily pleased. Ella gets to her feet and raises an empty glass at me, announcing: “Three cheers for Connie!”
Once the hip-hips are done, everyone starts to make a move towards the inn. It’s still only eight p.m. – we made an early start in deference to the fact that people had children to tend to, or were, as George put it, “too old to be out of my bed until midnight”.
It’s just about dark outside but the air is still warm as we spill onto the patio. Spirits are high, and as we move across the green, Archie grabs hold of me and hoists me up onto his shoulders. Everyone cheers and claps, while I desperately cling on.
“Archie, put me down!” I protest. “We’re not at Glastonbury!”
He ignores me and starts to jog towards the pub, making me scream like one of his little girls. This, I think, is definitely one of those things that is fun when you are five and torture when you’re fifty-five, and I’m hugely relieved when he deposits me safely back on the ground. I punch him in the chest and he pretends I’ve wounded him.
Everyone settles down in the inn, some way more drunk than others. I have a small glass of wine, but limit myself to that because I have a busy day tomorrow. I don’t fancy facing the fish market with a hangover, because who would?
Cally puts some Wham! on the jukebox, and an impromptu dancefloor immediately forms between the tables and chairs. The Starshine Inn is one of the oldest buildings in the village, and its walls and beams slope at strange angles – as does the floor. It makes dancing an amusing challenge, as I’ve discovered many times.
Marcy, Rose and Sophie join in with a spirited routine toWake Me Up Before You Go-Go, and George and the Betties do an almost as lively sitting-down dance. As ever, I feel a senseof warmth roll over me at everybody’s antics – mad as a box of frogs, the lot of them. But they’re my mad frogs, and I love them for it.
I see Jake and Zack chatting at the bar, and then Zack spots me and comes over to sit by me.
“Were you an Andrew Ridgeley girl or a George Michael girl?” he asks as he puts his pint down.
“Neither. I was Spandau Ballet all the way – I fully expected to marry Martin Kemp, and I was devastated when he got together with Shirlie. I do love a bit of Wham! now though – I mean, you’d have to be weird not to, right?”
“Absolutely. Timeless classics. When I was a teenager, I pretended to be into much cooler things like Pink Floyd and Jimi Hendrix, and the cool-adjacent 80s bands like The Cure and Echo and the Bunnymen. But at home I secretly listened to a-ha, and used to dance around my bedroom pretending I was Morten Harket.”
“Well, that’s understandable. Morten Harket was very hot. I’d definitely have climbed into that comic book with him. Why don’t you wear your glasses anymore?”
He looks temporarily confused by the change in subject, as am I – I have no idea where that question came from.
“I had laser treatment. Why?”
“Dunno. I just always remember you having them on, and thinking they looked cute…”
He grins and says: “Aha! You thought I was cute?”
“That’s not what I said. I said I thought your glasses were cute.”
He pretends to be crestfallen and replies: “Nothing else? I’m disappointed. Maybe I’m remembering this wrong, but I always thought there was something there, between us? I used to look forward to our meetings so much. You’d always look great,always be so fun, always do or say something outrageous… and you definitely winked at me more than once!”
He is, of course, totally right – but that description of me is not something that fills my heart with joy. The truth is I considered dragging him off into a broom cupboard on more than one occasion, and the idea of it is still appealing.
“Hmmm. No,” I reply. “That doesn’t sound like me at all. Maybe I just had something in my eye? It was just the glasses, Zack. I always liked a man in glasses.”
“Well, I’m sure I can always find a pair with plain lenses if that floats your boat?”
“My boat floats just fine as it is, but thanks for the offer.”
Is he flirting with me? I think he might be, and I’m not used to that. I’m not used to men who look like him paying any attention to me at all. I’m feeling a little hot again, and quickly sip some wine. Do not get drunk, do not get drunk, do not get drunk, I remind myself – the fish market knows no mercy.
“I’m sorry I was late,” he says, politely ignoring the fact that I’m rooting around in my handbag for my handheld fan. “Today I mean.”
“Yes, that’s what I assumed you meant. It’s no big deal.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t like being that guy – the one that says he’ll do something and then doesn’t.”
“Oh. What guy do you like to be? Apart from Morten Harket I mean?”
