I take a sip, swish it around my mouth and swallow. ‘I can definitely detect some alcohol.’
‘You two are useless,’ laughs Nora. ‘We’re never going to win the bottle of champagne at this rate.’
‘It’s Prosecco,’ I tell her. ‘Not that I’d be able to taste the difference between that, champagne and 7-Up, apparently.’
‘Then I give up,’ Nora says, abandoning the sheet. ‘So tell me, Zach. How long have you lived in the UK?’
‘Three weeks exactly. At least, this time around.’
‘You’ve lived here before?’ Jeff asks, leaning in andwaytoo interested.
‘Yeah. A long time ago.’
It turns out that Zach spent four years as a student in Edinburgh, which was where he met his wife, from whom he is now separated, pending a divorce. I concentrate on taking another sip of red and mark it down on the sheet, pretending not to listen to the conversation around me.
‘She’s originally from Manchester, though she moved to LA with me when we got together. Only now her dad is really sick with late-stage cancer. Sadly, it looks like he’s not going to make it,’ Zach explains.
‘Oh dear. That’s sad,’ Jeff says.
‘Yeah. It is. He’s a great guy, a real sweet man. She understandably wants to be here with him at a time like this – and support her mom. Except, we have a daughter, Mila. And... because her mom’s here, she has to be here too. Which Iget. . . except,’ he takes a breath, ‘I justcannotbe a whole continent away from her. That’s not even an option for me.’
‘I see,’ Nora says. ‘So that’s why you’ve come to live and work here?’
‘Exactly. Only for a short while.’ He shrugs. ‘It was never part of the plan, but it is what it is.’
There’s something about the way he says it that sounds as if, all things being equal, he’d prefer not to have left the US.
‘How old is Mila?’ Nora asks.
‘She’s four.’
Nobody around the table could fail to notice the sparkle in Zach’s eyes as he almost automatically picks up his phone, unlocks the screen and is about to thrust it in front of Nora before withdrawing self-consciously.
‘Sorry,’ he smiles. ‘I sometimes forget thatnobodyis interested in other people’s kids, no matter how besotted you are.’
‘Not at all,’ protests Nora, as she pulls out her own mobile. ‘I’minterested. How about I’ll look at yours, then you can look at mine?’
‘Hand it over,’ he grins.
I catch a glimpse of a picture on his screensaver of a small girl sitting on top of Zach’s shoulders. She has soft, curly hair and exactly the same dimple in her chin as her father.
He glances at me and I clear my throat.
‘Very cute,’ I say, feeling caught out.
Jeff, on my left, leans into whisper. ‘The kid’s sweet too.’
The evening is a triumph. Proof that, despite the less-than-salubrious venue, if you are surrounded by good company and a lot of plonk (even if I suspect some of these bottles fell off the back of a lorry) you can still have a wonderful time. And Zach, it is undeniable,isgood company.
He manages to charm everyone, without dominating the conversation. Though it’s fair to say that our concentration on the quiz itself wanes the more the evening progresses. Eventually, we find ourselves discuss anything but wine. The reformation of Bananarama. Exactly how popular soccer is in the US these days. How Nora reckons that my moody 15-year-old not only has a superb forehand slice, but inherpresence is never anything other than pleasant, polite and engaging. Dr Jekyll, basically.
As the evening draws on, we’re also treated to the revelation that Jeff is considering a hair transplant.
‘I don’t think you’re thinning that much, are you?’ I say, surprised.
‘Are you joking? I feel like a Scotch pine on Boxing Day. There’ll be nothing left soon.’
‘You exaggerate.’
