‘Of course.’ Alison manages a tight little smile herself.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me’—Matthew puts an arm around both mine and Scarlett’s shoulders—‘I’m stealing my girls away. I’ve got a toast to make in a bit. Where’s Luke?’
‘Dancing with that stupid Joe.’ Scarlett scowls and slinks off to refill her glass – with the non-alcoholic punch I hope. Judging by the smell of whisky wafting around her, I am pretty sure she’s been at something stronger. I should tell Matthew. But if I do, how is that going to help things between me and her?
So I keep quiet.
Matthew guides me through the throng, past Luke and his schoolmates. We wave at them as a portly man with suspiciously black hair and too many ruffles for his fat cheeks greets Matthew cheerily.
‘Good do, King. Great vino. Fucking uncomfortable costume though.’ The man runs a fat finger round his sweaty neckband. ‘Only wore it cos the missus said I’d be rewarded later if I did, eh?’ He gives a horrible wink. ‘Fancy the shooting range soon?’
‘Perhaps.’ Matthew grins. ‘If my lovely wife will spare me for an hour. This is Detective Chief Inspector Peters, Jeanie, otherwise known as Kipper.’
‘Don’t ask.’ Sweaty Kipper winks lasciviously and I smile back.
‘I wasn’t going to,’ I assure him. Shooting? Did Matthew really think that was fun?
‘Good to see the kids doing so well. Enchanted, my dear.’ He bows over my hand, and I blush.
‘Nice to meet you, er – Kipper.’
They chat about clay-pigeon distances, while I watch Scarlett move over to the decks, loitering by Frankie and George. Frank gives her half a polite smile and carries on chatting. Still, she lingers there, staring into the crowd, sucking an ice cube provocatively as Frank puts on a remix of Little Richard’s ‘Good Golly Miss Molly’.
‘So was she being vile?’ Matthew kisses my forehead as Kipper is whisked away to do the twist by his tiny wife.
‘Who?’ I ask, surprised. He’s never acknowledged Scarlett’s behaviour before, but it’d be a relief, actually, if we could discuss it…
‘Old Ali Baba!’ Matt shakes his head. ‘She seems to be getting worse in her middle age, I’m afraid. A bit… bitter.’
‘Well she was a bit – unfriendly maybe. Who is she?’
‘Alison? Scarlett’s godmother unfortunately. Old school friend of Kaye’s.’
‘Oh I see. Of Kaye’s.’ Even saying her name makes me feel a bit funny. My warm glow of earlier has dissipated.
‘Husband Sean’s a decent bloke though. It was him I was hoping to see actually.’ Distractedly Matthew checks the time. ‘Whizz with figures. I wanted to tap him up about some stocks someone’s selling. Fancy a spin round the dance floor?’
* * *
Some time later, when Matthew goes to sort out the fireworks, I notice Alison intercepting him by the patio doors. I don’t have my glasses on, so I can’t make out the conversation, which is animated. When I look for her later, she’s gone.
It is annoying – I am annoyed with myself – but I can’t quite regain the happy feeling I had earlier.
Perhaps I am still chasing the buzzy feeling I had when I met Matthew six months ago: the feeling I’d landed the jackpot.
And meeting Matthew had been a complete fluke.
Unusually I’d been in London for the weekend when my old friend Jill rang out of the blue, begging for company at a work do.
‘Corporate speed dating,’ she’d coaxed. ‘I emailed you about it before – remember? What’s not to like? Men with jobs and money.’
‘Great,’ I’d sighed. ‘Now they just need their own teeth and hair too.’
Jill and I had been friends since I’d done my PGCE, about five years after Frankie was born – and just after I’d met Simon. I’d pulled myself out of the hell that ensued and plodded on in education – but Jill had quickly given up teaching. Never loving it like I did, she cited lack of ‘prospects’ for her decision to work for a big City bank.
On this particular visit, I had noted her prospects appeared to be stressing her badly. She had terrible skin for the first time, and she was lonely since splitting with her husband a few years before – but she was also working all hours.
I only went to her party because she’d needed solidarity. I was lurking in the corner, drinking a warm margarita and watching Jill heroically tackle a hedge-fund manager with two chins and hairy ears, when Matthew honed in on me – to my enduring surprise and much to the hilarity of his laddish mates.
When he asked for my number, Jill was gallant about it, despite the fact it was her who’d noticed Matthew, prior to Two Chins. I felt bad though and tried to make amends by buying her a horrendously expensive ticket for Gypsy a few weeks later.
When Jill had heard we were getting married, she’d sent a nice card. But she couldn’t come to the New Year’s Eve party, she’d said.
* * *