‘I do love a gentleman,’ she said.
‘Really? Is that all it takes?’
‘It’s more than most of them out there. God, one guy I met totted up our bill at the end of the date and made me pay more because I’d had sparkling water and he’d only had tap.’
‘That’s what they call a red flag,’ said Patrick.
‘Exactly!’ said Kate with feeling. ‘And he was a consultant endocrinologist with his own private practice so pots of money. Divorced. Ex-wife hated him, he said.’
‘I can see why.’
She laughed again. ‘Oh, Patrick. You’re so funny.’
He smiled at her. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’
They walked back into the bar, where Laurence was now trying to get everyone to form a conga line. ‘Come and do the conga!’ he was singing hoarsely, as some of the guests began dutifully forming a line. ‘DA-NA-NA-NA! Come and do the conga!’
‘I’m going to bed,’ said Patrick to Kate, wishing he could just slip away.
‘You’re so boring,’ she said, tartly. ‘I thought weddings were meant to be fun.’
‘Well, there’s your fun,’ he said, motioning towards Laurence. ‘What could be more fun than doing the conga?’
‘Maybe.’ Kate looked unconvinced.
Patrick smiled at her. ‘We could organise a game of the hokey-cokey, if you like?’
‘Now you’re talking. If there is one thing parties need, that is the hokey-cokey. The problem is I would need to be a lot drunker before I do something like that.’ She looked at Patrick and sighed. ‘You go to bed. You’ve got the excuse of jet lag. I will try to resist the lure of the conga line.’
‘You sure you’ll be okay?’
She nodded. ‘If you can manage a weekend night shift at A & E, you can deal with a big a drunken conga line.’ She reached over and gave Patrick a peck on the cheek. ‘You sleep well, okay. Be nice and refreshed for even more excitement tomorrow.’
He nodded and gave her shoulder an affectionate tap as he left and walked into the lounge. And there were Rosie’s two children, half-asleep on the two sofas on the lounge. Should he go and find her or drag Laurence out of the conga line to mind them?
One of the staff was wheeling the dessert trolley from the dining room and into the kitchen. The wheels of the trolley squeaked a little as she went past.
‘Need more oil,’ she said as she sailed past him. ‘This jalopy is now back in service.’ She gazed down at the trolley, which was now full of half-demolished cakes, the chocolate mousse nearly all gone, the pavlova now just an avalanche of white. The woman spotted the twins. ‘Oh, good Lord, the children are still here.’ She and the trolley squeaked over to them, the sound rousing the twins.
‘Am I in heaven?’ said the boy, sleepily, sitting himself up. ‘Maureen is bringing us cake.’
‘Maureen, thank you,’ said the girl. ‘Is this for us?’
Maureen nodded. ‘I don’t see why not, considering you are here, out of hours, with no one to look after you. Your father is too busy in the bar, socialising. Now, take a saucer each and take what you fancy. It’ll only go to waste.’
The children beamed at her and then at Patrick. ‘Isn’t Maureen the best?’ said the boy.
‘When Maureen is in a good mood,’ said the girl, putting her arm around the woman’s waist, ‘she’s the best in the world. When she’s in a bad mood…’ She paused, looking up at Maureen. ‘…she’s still the best!’
Maureen laughed. ‘You two are divils, you are. You know how to get around me. Go and help yourself before I change my mind.’ She sat down on the sofa. ‘My legs are only killing me,’ she said, turning to Patrick. ‘I’ve been on the things all day.’
Isabelle handed her a saucer of chocolate mousse, which she had scooped from the bowl. ‘You need this, Maureen,’ she said.
‘It’ll fix your legs,’ said the boy.
‘Thank you,’ said Maureen, accepting it and a small spoon. ‘I think it might be just the ticket. And a portion for our guest. But first, have you introduced yourselves?’
‘We haven’t had time,’ said the boy, turning to Patrick. ‘I’m Killian and this is…’
