‘Whisky on the rocks,’ Dad orders, his voice firm.
‘Alcohol this early? You’ll be tight before we hit the golf course, Walt,’ Chester teases, his grin wide enough to fit the table in.
‘Well, you know what they say…’ Dad starts.
‘That it’s 5p.m. somewhere?’ Chester interrupts with a smirk.
‘No, that it’s my bloody house,’ Dad corrects him.
‘Daddy, don’t be beastly,’ Seph playfully ticks him off.
‘Bit early for me. I’ll stick with wine,’ Chester says, and I genuinely don’t think he’s joking.
‘Wine for me too,’ Seph adds, and Eleanor quickly echoes, ‘And me,’ because of course they’re having the same thing.
‘Yes, wine for me,’ Bea says.
I glance at Tyler, who’s standing nearby, jotting all this down.
‘Tyler, do you reckon you could make me a cocktail?’ I ask him. ‘I don’t mind what kind, you can surprise me.’
He smiles.
‘I’ll see what I can whip up for you.’
‘Tyler?’ Bea repeats, looking and sounding like the name tastes bad in her mouth.
‘You know that boy?’ Dad asks, and I have to suppress a laugh at him calling a man who’s clearly in his thirties ‘boy’.
‘I met him outside,’ I explain. ‘He seems nice.’
‘Oh, Lana banana, flirting with the staff,’ Seph snorts, as though I’ve just committed the ultimate faux pas.
Before I can respond, Bea jumps in.
‘Shall we get down to business? After all, that’s why we’re all here, to get ready for the biggest society wedding since Wills and Kate.’
You know Bea is going to be the kind of woman who acts like she knows them personally and obviously overlooks Harry and Meghan’s nuptials.
Seph clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to her.
‘Right, yes, so,’ she begins, each word gathering speed. ‘The wedding will be here before we know it, and we’ll be jetting off to Oz even sooner, so this is really just about making sure everyone is up to speed with details.’
I feel like I’m in a school assembly, fighting to concentrate, my brain trying to check out when I know I’m supposed to be singing ‘Give Me Oil in My Lamp’.
‘So, the dress code,’ Seph continues. ‘This is a black-tie event, very exclusive, so a very strict dress code. Tuxedos for the gents – no button-down collars, please. This is a wedding, not a high-school prom, I want to see wingtip only. And for the ladies, it’s black silk gowns. Gowns should be to the floor, please, and we kindly request that anyone above a C cup thinks carefully about their neckline.’
I blink as my ears prick up.
‘What?’ I ask, just to make sure I didn’t imagine that.
‘Anyone above a C cup needs to consider their neckline,’ Seph repeats, her tone as matter-of-fact as if she’s announcing the weather. ‘A plunge looks great, on the right body, but the more a lady has up top, the less ladylike she looks in a lower neckline.’
Wow, that’s offensive generally but especially seeing as though I have ‘more up top’.
I catch Bea’s eye as she looks at me pointedly.
‘I assume you’re buying a dress that is appropriate?’ she asks, her tone layered with the kind of condescension that makes me want to throw my swan-shaped napkin at her.
