He shook his head. ‘It’s an Irish wedding. You need a bit of drama. It’s the law. And my dad created some of it, Laurence can’t take all the credit.’ He smiled at her and then picked up a large pink camellia which had fallen to the ground and, for a moment, hesitated, and then poked it back among the other flowers in the arch.
Martin came back into the tent, now putting his arm around Rosie. ‘You okay?’
‘You’d think they’d argue at home, wouldn’t you?’
Martin smiled. ‘Some people love a PDA – a public display of arguing. My ex was like that. Didn’t feel it was real unless there were people standing around.’
The arch was back up, the flowers back in place and the music had started again.
‘Oh, Patrick!’ It was Kate, who flashed Rosie an insincere smile before pulling Patrick away. ‘We need to discuss buttonholes. Yours has to match my dress. And your tie? Apparently, no one told you what colour to wear. Come now. We can discuss it all over a drink.’ She yanked on his arm, with surprising strength, almost as though she was popping a bone out, the opposite to her trick on the beach, and Rosie watched as Patrick was dragged away. He had little choice. It was either that or lose a limb.
‘Come on, Rosie,’ said Martin, ‘let’s get back to our drinks.’
They left the tent and walked across the grass. Nessa and Laurence were sitting on the steps in front of the hotel. Nessa was crying, while Laurence had his head in his hands.
‘I’ve just ruined the wedding,’ said Nessa, crying again. ‘The hotel’s first ever wedding and I go in shouting and screaming.’
‘You were driven to it, Ness,’ said Laurence. ‘I drove you to it, didn’t I, Rosie?’
‘Well…’ Rosie was reluctant to completely absolve Nessa. Her behaviour wouldn’t exactly win them a five-star review inWeddings Monthly. Why couldn’t she have had it out with Laurence well away from the marquee?
‘It’s me who’s ruined everything,’ went on Laurence sadly, with the air of someone bravely accepting his fate, as though he was the hero in a film. ‘I’ve ruined Rosie and Grace’s wedding…’
‘It wasn’t us who was getting married,’ said Grace, who had now joined them. ‘You ruined Niamh and Seán’s wedding.’
‘You’ve never loved me enough, Laurence,’ said Nessa. ‘I was always second best.’ She turned to Rosie. ‘He’s always liked you more than he liked me. You weren’t interested in him. And so I was the runner-up. Well, some prize our marriage has turned out to be.’
‘Ness, it’s not true, is it, Laurence?’ implored Rosie, desperately.
Nessa was looking at her husband, gauging his sincerity. Their marriage depended on this one moment of assessment. And Laurence, showing a once-in-a-lifetime flash of emotional intelligence, probably never to be seen again, didn’t flinch. ‘Of course not,’ said Laurence. ‘I mean, I always liked Rosie. But I love you. And I didn’t think you loved me,’ he went on. ‘You always treat me like I’m an idiot. You wouldn’t even let me change a plug the other day.’
‘But you’re a liability,’ said Nessa. ‘You blew up the fuse box. Now every time I open the hall door, I get an electric shock.’
‘You should call Martin Moore,’ said Rosie and Grace at the same time. They grinned at each other.
Martin lifted his hand. ‘Reporting for duty,’ he said.
‘I didn’t think you cared about me,’ said Laurence to Nessa. ‘But when I saw you roaring and shouting like that, I realised that you did.’
‘But I behaved terribly,’ said Nessa.
‘We both did,’ said Laurence, shamefaced. ‘I’ve made a right eejit of myself. I got carried away.’ He stood up and held out his hands. ‘I’m going to kick the old alcohol on the head. Be a better dad and husband.’ He reached out to pull Nessa up. ‘I’m sorry, Nessie, I really am. I love you.’
She hesitated, looking at him, assessing whether or not she could reciprocate. The rest of them waited with bated breath.
‘I love you too,’ Nessa said eventually.
There was a collective sigh of relief.
‘You’d better go home,’ said Grace before mouthing, ‘before you ruin anything else.’
Nessa and Laurence walked ahead of them, hand in hand, while Grace and Rosie and Martin headed back across the lawn, up the steps towards the hotel.
‘We need to finish our drinks,’ said Grace.
And then they saw François leaving out of the side door of the kitchen. He raised a hand to wave.
‘Bonsoir, François!’ called Grace. ‘Ready?’
