“I'm off to go save this kitchen and fucken enjoy every second of it.” Marty stands and walks off before any of us can say anything.
Feeling both incredibly proud of him and relieved for my brother, I am also pinned to my chair in panic now that I have to eat cake and make polite conversation with his parents, alone. Maeve is fully absorbed in her phone again so will be little help. But after one mouthful of the cake - a decadently light and moist sponge with fresh cream and strawberry filling - I decide to persevere, knowing it will make Marty happy.
We make small talk about the cake, the resort, and how lucky we are with the warm weather, and I am relieved when Cynthia asks me more questions about my work and asks if I can recommend some books about grief and loss.
“I have tried to get Marty to read one or two, but he says he doesn’t have the attention span for them,” she says.
“It’s possible,” I say. “Grief can often manifest in periods of restlessness with an inability to focus.”
“I’m not sure that’s the grief,” James adds. “That’s just Marty. He’s not a sit down and read kind of lad. He’s like me, feels better when he’s active or busy.”
“Maybe I could suggest one or two audiobooks to him,” I say. “Maybe he could listen to them on a run or in the gym.”
“Could you?” Cynthia looks stunned. “That would be fantastic.”
“What about books on sexuality?” Maeve pipes up and the three of us turn to her. I’d assumed she was busy on her phone and not listening. She doesn’t hold any of our gazes. “For all of us, I mean. To try and support Marty better with that.”
“I can recommend some books for that too,” I say, and I make sure I have Maeve’s eye before I continue. “I know some great websites too that can help you understand different types of sexual identities.”
Maeve shrugs and looks back on her phone. “Sounds good.”
“I’d like to see them too,” says Cynthia as her eyes flit between the two of us.
“Oh, for feck’s sake, I’ll even have a look. Is metrosexual in there?” James says, and that makes me laugh while Maeve groans.
I am about to ask Maeve about her work, when I spot my brother charging for our table.
“Your boy is a chef's version of Superman,” Jake starts collecting our empty glasses. I'm not sure if he's talking to me or Marty’s parents but still my cheeks warm. “He's whipped the whole team into shape, he's attacking orders like a Riverdancing ninja, and I have finally got a server back. Also, did you know he likes to listen to ABBA while working?”
His parents’ laughter fills my ears.
“Oh, God, does he still do that?” James asks.
“I'm afraid that's my fault,” Cynthia says, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. “I like to relive my youth when cooking. He grew up listening to far too much Seventies pop. I used to play it every evening as I made dinner.”
“No apologies necessary. He's literally saving my life tonight, so I don't care what he listens to,” my brother says then he leans towards me and whispers in my ear. “But my God, he cannot dance. I think that rhythm is his kryptonite.”
I am quick to turn my head so only he can hear. “Oh, his rhythm is just fine.”
My brother's eyes close and lips flatten as he gathers his composure, straightening up.
“Needless to say, your meal is on the house tonight,” he says to Marty's parents.
“Oh no, that's not necessary.” James now has his wife's hand in his and I find myself smiling as I watch his fingers stroke hers.
“It absolutely is,” Jake says. “Do you need anything else? Some coffee or tea? An after dinner drink?”
“Well, if you're offering, I'll take a whiskey.” James smiles. “Irish, of course.”
“And I'll have a mint tea,” Cynthia says, leaning forward. “And could I also ask you a quick question?”
“Certainly.” Jake comes to stand beside Cynthia again.
“What kind of security do you have here?”
“Oh, Jesus, Mother.” Maeve slams her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.
“Maeve, it's a valid question if there's a Greek sex pest out there wanting to find you.”
