Laurence nodded. ‘She was the girl next door. We’d known each other all our lives and now we have twins…’
Patrick was still staring at this man, wondering what on earth Rosie saw in him.
‘So what’s the plan for the wedding?’ Laurence was saying. ‘I think Rosie was saying something about a beach barbecue. Oh, and word of advice, if you see an older woman buzzing around, under no circumstances allow her to join the party. She’s my wife’s aunt Lucinda and always seems to attach herself to groups of people. Last month, it was these estate agents on some bonding away-day thing, and they couldn’t shake her off. She even joined in their karaoke. Sung “I Will Survive” but finally the estate agents managed to wrestle the microphone from her.’
If there was one person on this earth Patrick disliked, it was Rosie’s aunt Lucinda, and perhaps she was the reason why Rosie might have married Laurence. This braying eejit was exactly the kind of person Lucinda would approve of.
‘So, lads…’ Laurence clapped his hands together, rubbing them. ‘What’s on the agenda? When are the rest of your friends arriving?’
‘They’re all arriving in the morning, around breakfast time,’ said Niamh. ‘And then we’ve the barbecue from 1p.m. A minibus is going to take us down.’
Laurence was lifting his pint to his lips when he suddenly grabbed his shoulder. ‘Ow!’ he shouted. ‘My rotator cuff is fecked. It’s my golf war wound. I’ve been told not to play golf for a while. Which means…’ He looked at Seán. ‘I’ll be at a loose end…’
‘Well, you have to join us, then,’ said Seán, as polite and hospitable as ever. ‘Come to the barbecue tomorrow. We’d be pleased to have you, wouldn’t we, Niamh?’
Niamh smiled. ‘Of course. The more, the merrier.’
Patrick could hardly speak he was so stunned. Why had Rosie married him? And he seemed to have invited himself to the wedding. When Laurence had disappeared in search of some painkillers, Seán turned to Patrick, half-shrugging in that affable, easy-going way of his. ‘That’s a coincidence…’
Patrick nodded. ‘What are the chances…?’
‘It’s Ireland,’ said Kate. ‘There are only three degrees of separation. Maybe you’ve forgotten, Patrick, after being in the States for so long? You meet someone and within two minutes you’ve found a connection. Last year, right, I was in Tokyo and we met this group of lads from Dublin. One knew my sister, another had been in the year below me at Trinity College and this other guy had had a summer job mowing lawns years earlier and turned out he’d done my mother’s.’ She smiled at Patrick, laying a hand on his arm again. ‘You need to reconnect with us Irish again,’ she said. ‘We’re a friendly lot.’ Her teeth were American-white, dazzling like the full beam of an oncoming car.
‘There’s a lot of Irish in Boston,’ he said, once he’d stopped blinking. ‘It’s just like Dublin. Only slightly bigger. Pubs aren’t as good.’ He smiled.
‘Apart from your bar,’ she said. ‘I hear it’s very cool. Seán was saying.’
‘Seán said it was cool?’ Patrick laughed. ‘He’s not usually one for the superlatives.’
‘Except for when it comes to Niamh. From the moment they met, they were smitten.’
Patrick smiled. ‘He told me when he first met her he’d met the woman he was going to marry.’
‘When was this?’ asked Kate.
‘I think at some conference. He was asking me how he should ask her out.’
‘And are you normally asked for your advice in the dating world?’
Patrick gave a short laugh. ‘No. I wouldn’t be someone I would take advice from.’
‘Really? Why not?’
‘Oh, well, I seem to be permanently single.’
‘Permanently?’ Kate looked shocked. ‘As in like a monk?’
He laughed again. ‘Not quite, it’s just that I don’t seem to be able to make any relationship work.’
‘What’s wrong with you? Fussy or busy? I’m both, by the way, which is why I too am permanently single. Or near enough.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a fecking jungle out there. The only men on the apps are maniacs who look nothing like their profile pictures and are never as successful as they claim. One man said he ran his own tech start-up. Working part-time for his Dad’s computer fix-it place wasn’t quite what I imagined.’
Patrick thought of his last girlfriend, Ashley, and how she’d said he was too closed. Ashley had really twisted the knife by saying he reminded her of her father. ‘You’re both emotionally constipated,’ she had said, before leaving his apartment for the last time. ‘If I had wanted to date my dad, I wouldn’t have wasted all that money on therapy.’ He had seen her the other week at one of Kerry-Anne’s parties and she’d come over, all smiles, and introduced her new boyfriend. ‘This is Donald,’ she had said. ‘He’s running for Senate.’
Kate was talking about some man she’d been seeing, a consultant at her hospital. ‘He’s so arrogant. Even more than those consultants usually are. And I have no idea why, considering he’s very average.’ She gazed at Patrick. ‘I’m so bored with average, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Average sounds quite relaxing. Aren’t most people average?’
He had to try to be his old self and focus but all he could think about was Laurence and how wrong he seemed for Rosie. She deserved better, she really did. She’d moved on, obviously. Had he expected her to wither away Miss Havisham-like while he lived it up in Boston? She was running a beautiful hotel, had married and had children. Perhaps he was the one who had pined and withered. Perhaps it was time to consider Kerry-Anne’s proposal. He liked her, admired her and they were a good team. He could be involved in the child’s life, he could be a good father, a better one than he had had.
