“So, what do you have in the way of ... entertainment?” inquired Michael.
The pub owner raised his eyebrows. “What are you talking about? A band? We got a band come in nightly if there’s not a game on the telly.”
Michael cleared his throat. “I was hoping ... well, a band is fine. Do you know what they play?” He glanced at the slip of paper in his palm. “Not any chance they’re familiar with Coldplay, is there? Or Sting?”
The pub owner grunted. “Not likely,” he answered.
This was supposed to be Vicki’s job, arranging a girl’s night out for Kate, her maid of honor, and a couple of girls from the village who catered occasionally at Heathshedge. She was not supposed to tag along by invitation when Sean landed a promotional opportunity at a rock music festival, courtesy of Jean’s influence. She left a list of suggestions tucked in Michael’s coat pocket after extracting his promise to make the arrangements.
“It’s kind of a thing,” she said. “You’re the guest of honor, see? So it’s not all girls on a girls’ night out. We’ll behave ourselves better with a guy in the room.” She bit her fingernail and gave him a smile that was meant to entice.
“I don’t think...” Michael answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not a great idea. Maybe you should take Sean along instead.” He thought of chapter ten’s much-needed tweaking–he had promised the publisher a draft in what–six weeks?
Vicki’s finger flicked the open topmost button on his shirt. “You were Kate’s idea,” she replied. “I’m just delivering like a good little maid of honor should, right?”
“Kate’s idea?” he repeated. The reasons for this were beyond his comprehension, unless it was to save herself the sight of Sean and Vicki together. His mind flew back to the sight of Vicki’s charm oozing forth in the form of little stories about her and Sean onset, as if digging at the surface of his short relationship with Kate.
“I’m thinking eight,” said Vicki. “At that little pub in the village where all the rowdies go to play darts. Call me when you get an answer, okay?”
Which was how he ended up at a table cordoned-off by the bartender earlier in the afternoon, wedged in a seat between Kate and Vicki. Vicki’s blond hair was topped with a white cowboy hat, similar to one Kate was wearing, only with red thread fringe dangling from the brim like a lampshade. The band’s pulse was pounding behind them with a mediocre blend of British and American rock.
“Isn’t this awesome?” said Vicki. “I haven’t had a good drink since I landed in Britain, except for that martini Sean bought me after the film screening.” Vicki had already polished off two rounds, twin colorful umbrellas laying on the table.
Kate was silent thus far, with no signs that her shell was receding for this event. Her red tank top was trimmed with sequins, a plain white cowboy’s hat settled evenly on her brow. She seemed absorbed with peeling a paper straw wrapper, a Long Island iced tea untouched at her elbow. The two girls from the village were both sipping pints, their hats a pink version of Kate’s own.
It was awkward, painfully so, to be trapped here with them. Kate’s silence seemed to grow by the second; Vicki’s red-tipped nails motioned for another drink.
“So what’s your name, love?” One of the other girls leaned forward with a smile, her voice raised above the band. “I’m Elsie. I work in the house kitchen whenever there’s a party. Maybe I’ll be there for your wedding in a couple days.”
“It’s not my wedding,” he answered loudly. She didn’t hear him, too busy whispering something to the girl beside her who giggled.
“We should play a game,” announced Vicki. “Get to know each other a little better. Spin the bottle, maybe.” She plucked Michael’s sleeve as she leaned forward, revealing the plunging neckline of her shirt as she confiscated his beer bottle. She titled it back with her lips locked over its mouth, draining the last swallow from its bottom.
“That’s better,” she announced. Placing it in the middle of the table, she spun it playfully, the form wobbling until it rested in front of the second girl from the village.
“Hey, Annie, you have to tell us–who was your first crush?” said Vicki. The girl twined one of her braids around her hand.
“David Beckham,” she answered. Her friend nudged her, jaw dropped in surprise.
“What?” said Annie. “I was a late bloomer, as they say.” With a giggle, she raised a too-full pint to her mouth. Vicki’s fingers spun the bottle again, the mouth wobbling precariously until it faced Vicki.
“Here goes,” she laughed. “I once sucked somebody’s toes on a dare.” This statement produced shocked stares from both the village girls. Kate’s eyes remained locked on her drink, half its contents now gone. She absently stirred the straw through the heavy layers of ice.
“Toes?” repeated Annie. “Boy or girl?” There was a shriek from Elsie, whose drink spilled down her front.
“Oh, yuck,” she said. “Look at me, all sopping–Kenny, bring me a towel!” She downed the last swallow in her glass before setting it aside.
“Michael, order another,” said Vicki. “Come on, you’re not having a very good time.”
“I’m having a fine time,” he answered, his smile tight with this response. Shouldn’t she be more concerned with the kind of time the bride-to-be was having? The stifling atmosphere, Kate’s miserable silence–at this moment he would give anything to be sucked back to his room on the estate, catching Charlotte and Louisa in the covert act of reading his manuscript.
The red-tipped nails were tapping against the glass bottle, as if debating the merits of another spin. “Let’s give everyone something to talk about, then,” said Vicki. Leaning across the table, she seized the lapel of his coat, pulling him towards her. He felt her mouth against his, a sense of heat and pressure that made his skin tingle.
Vicki drew back after a moment. “How was that?” she asked. Her eyes searched his for a moment before flickering in the direction of the bar again. “Hey! Another round over here!”
Kate was staring at Vicki, her lips parted in shock. A look of rage, of contempt, even, as her fingers curled around her glass. Vicki noticed, her brow furrowed above a little smile of incomprehension.
“What?” she asked. “Katie, you look like you’re mad.” She reached across to squeeze Kate’s hand. It was withdrawn from reach in response.
“You need another drink,” said Vicki, motioning for the already-busy bartender.
“No,” answered Kate. “I don’t want one –”
“Well, you need it,” Vicki answered, her voice slightly huffy. She reached for Kate’s half-full glass as Michael’s hand closed over her wrist.
“Enough,” he said. “Change the subject, Vicki. To something else, please.” Kate was avoiding his glance; the other two tablemates had fallen silent momentarily.
“Fine,” said Vicki. She made no move to pull away from him, so he released her arm, attempting a polite smile in the same moment.
“I think I should go,” he said, gently. Vicki’s fingers pulled at his sleeve insistently, trying to draw him down again as he rose.
“Don’t be a party pooper,” she said. “Kate doesn’t want you to go, does she? Tell him, Katie–”
Kate said nothing, although he heard a chorus of pleas from the other two girls at the table. An evening in shambles, without hope of repair, yet he felt a brief hesitation at the sight of Kate’s brooding figure. As the bartender approached with a new round, he pulled away from Vicki and her guests and moved towards the door.
The fish and chips shop was the only other place open in the village, within view of the designated pick-up spot for when the estate’s Austin Healy would arrive for them. Beneath the buzz of florescent lights, he sampled a basket of fried fish strips and crisp potatoes. There was no ketchup, merely an empty bottle on the table, so he doused them with a little vinegar and salt.
He wondered if the girl’s night out would end shortly, an abrupt closure to the drinking scene between four comparative strangers. He wondered why Vicki had kissed him like that, why that was the first idea that popped into her head beneath the tide of drinks.
Would he be upset if Kate had kissed him instead? He closed his eyes at the thought, willing himself with a force of purpose to think of something else. He pictured the battle scene in chapter ten, a field of hacked limbs and mangled bodies, Macleod’s mind on his friend’s bones buried at the foot of the narrow cave. Maybe his publishers would extend his deadline if he was late; his editor would be merciful when he shared a tale or two about this week’s circumstances, perhaps.
He wiped his fingers on a napkin, left a few pounds on the table and rose to leave. The streets outside were damp and cool, the first little shower of rain in two days misting Michael’s glasses as he walked along. The distant chimes from the church sounded ten o’ clock, an hour later than he assumed. The car from the estate would pull across from the pub soon, prepared to usher the wedding party back to Heathshedge.
As he passed the doorway to the pub, he could see the dark outline of two locals engaged in a heated discuss about soccer. A woman’s laugh echoed from inside, the sound of a radio drifting from a car in the distance. A figure leaned against the side of the building, staring into the street until his approach attracted its notice. He avoided eye contact as he passed, his usual practice when walking at night in strange places. The person’s hand touched his arm.
“Michael.” He recognized Kate’s voice. Her breath was scented with the Long Island tea, her gait uncertain as she moved closer.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, placing his hand on her arm to steady her.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said, thickly. “I just thought–I don’t like Vicki very much. And with you there, perhaps I would be a bit more polite. Only instead...” She stumbled forwards, almost resting against him as he steadied her.
“You should wait inside,” he said “You’d be more comfortable. I’d let you know the moment the car pulls up–”
“She made me angry on purpose,” Kate continued, vaguely. “She doesn’t like me, either, Michael. You know.” She took another step forward and stumbled off the curb; her weight was now entirely in Michael’s arms, his body supporting hers.
“You were a gentleman,” she said. Her face rested against his shoulder as if he was cradling her in his arms. “Chivalrous. I have always heard it was dead.”
He laughed softly. “A real gentleman would have handled that confrontation far better than me,” he answered. He felt her arms twine around his neck for a moment, her body snuggling against him as a wild shiver traveled through him. She drew back after a moment, her body teetering precariously as he supported her.
“Thank you,” she said. His eyes were locked with hers, his train of thought no longer traveling swiftly enough to wonder why she said those words.
A car horn beeped as a pair of headlights flashed across them. Kate drew back, shielding her eyes as Michael turned towards the estate car pulling alongside the opposite curb.
“Our ride’s here,” he said, softly. Taking her arm, he helped her towards the car. She swayed slightly as they walked slowly side by side, neither of them giving a second glance towards the pub containing Vicki and her friends.