‘Good idea. Sorry about all this.’
‘It’s fine, love. Sorry I moaned. We’ll have a lovely time. Not often we all go out together, and it is Den’s birthday!’
‘I bloody love you.’ She stared at the man who was good, kind, and had the power to make everything feel just a little bit better. He always had.
You’re in shock. But don’t worry, these guys will get to you in a mo ...
‘I know.’ He winked at her and gripped her hand. ‘Posh not here yet?’
‘Obviously not, or you’d have heard the fanfare and seen the red carpet.’
‘Good point.’ He squeezed her fingers.
They walked back to the pub hand in hand and found her parents and the children cluttering up the foyer. A woman with a clipboard stood at the entrance door like a gatekeeper.
‘There you are!’ Her mum looked less than happy.
It occurred to her then that she’d not called to request the big table under the window, figuring they’d give them the best table they had available and that, for a large party, it would likely be the one they wanted. Harper held her grandad’s hand. Bertie was selecting leaflets from a rack of information on the wall and studying them like an old man on a walking holiday. It made her laugh.
‘Right. Let’s go in, shall we?’ Midge rubbed his palms together. He loved a good roast.
‘We would’ – her dad spoke slowly, his eyes darting towards his wife who looked a little pale – ‘but they can’t find our booking.’
She felt all eyes on her as a warm blush of discomfort rose on her chest and neck.
‘It’s under my name.’ She smiled, knowing there would be a simple solution.
‘We tried that.’ Her dad widened his eyes at her.
‘Well, I definitely made the booking.’ She felt the first flash of fluster. ‘Have you tried under the name Hughes, our surname?’ She smiled at the woman with the clipboard.
‘Hughes ...’ The woman ran her pen down a list. ‘Nope. Nothing.’
‘Okay.’ Remy moved closer to her, hoping she might be able to have this conversation without the scrutiny of her entire family breathing down her neck. ‘I definitely made the booking. I emailed you.’
‘This is a printout of all the emails for today.’ The woman was unflinching as she raised her clipboard. Remy remembered that dealing with issues and making people feel better when things went wrong was her actual job. She took a breath and painted on her smile.
‘I am sorry about this mix-up. It’s my dad’s birthday. There are nine of us. My name is Remy. R.E.M.Y.,’ she spelled, ‘or maybe I put it under my parents’ name, Brett? Ruthie Brett? Or my dad’s? Den, or Dennis?’
‘I’m sorry.’ The woman looked up at her with an expression that spoke more of irritation than remorse. ‘I have no booking for nine people under any name.’
‘Did I get the time wrong? Are we early?’ she pressed, desperate to find the booking.
‘No. Nothing at all. I’ve checked.’ The woman looked over her shoulder, as a couple entered the already overcrowded foyer space.
‘Right, well, in that case, can we please have a table for nine. For lunch. For ... for my dad’s birthday!’ She smiled widely, showing they were friendly forces, friendly forces who needed to catch a break, and who deserved a bloody table.
‘I’m sorry. We’re fully booked. No tables free at all. You could try again for next week?’
‘Well, it won’t be his birthday next week, will it? And we are all here now!’ Remy felt her blush intensify.
‘And Ashleigh, our daughter, is coming all the way fromLondon,just for this. She has her own business.’
Remy turned to look at her mother but chose not to speak, knowing this was not the time or place to inflame the situation.
‘I don’t know what to do.’ She stared at the woman as the words left her mouth. ‘I honestly don’t know what to do. I’m sure I emailed. I composed the email. Did I send it? I thought I’d sent it. But did I?’
The woman sighed. ‘Look, I just can’t help you.’
