Wedding Night (30 page)

“We have an expert here!” the air hostess is saying to the
man in the linen jacket, her eyes alive with excitement. “Don’t worry, everyone! We have a very senior pioneering surgeon from Great Ormond Street on board! He’ll take charge!”

Richard’s eyes are bulging in alarm. “No!” he manages. “No. Really. I’m … not …”

“Go on, Uncle Richard!” says Noah, his face bright. “Cure the lady!” Meanwhile, the GP looks affronted.

“It’s a straightforward case of angina,” he says testily, getting up. “My medical bag’s on board if you’d like me to assist. But if you want to give a second opinion—”

“No.” Richard looks desperate. “No, I don’t!”

“I’ve given her sublingual nitroglycerin. Would you agree with that?”

Oh God. This is bad. Richard looks absolutely desperate.

“I … I …” He swallows. “I—”

“He never practices on board planes!” I come to his rescue. “He has a phobia!”

“Yes,” gulps Richard, shooting me a grateful glance. “Exactly! A phobia.”

“Ever since a flight which went dreadfully wrong.” I shudder dramatically, as though from a painful memory. “Flight 406 to Bangladesh.”

“Please don’t ask me to talk about it.” Richard plays along.

“He’s still in therapy.” I nod gravely.

The GP stares at us both as if we’re crazy.

“Well, good thing I was here,” he says shortly. He turns back to the old woman, and both Richard and I subside. I feel weak. The air hostess shakes her head in disappointment and heads over to the other side of the plane.

“Fliss, you have to get Noah sorted out,” says Richard in a low, urgent voice. “He can’t go around just making up stories. He’ll get someone in real trouble.”

“I know.” I wince. “I’m so sorry.”

The old lady is being taken to some farther bit of the plane. The GP and the cabin crew are having what looks like a tense discussion. They all disappear behind a curtain, and for a little while there’s no sign of life. Richard is staring ahead intently, his forehead creased in concern. He must be worried about the old woman, I find myself thinking benevolently. He has a kind heart, Richard.

“So, listen. Tell me.” He turns to me at last, his brow still furrowed. “They really haven’t done it yet?”

Oh,
honestly
. Silly me. He’s a man. Naturally he’s thinking about only one thing.

“Not as far as I know.” I shrug.

“Hey, maybe this Ben can’t get it up.” Richard’s face brightens in sudden animation.

“I don’t think that’s it.” I shake my head.

“Why not? It’s the only explanation! He can’t get it up!”

“Can’t get what up?” asks Noah with interest.

Great
. I glare at Richard, but he’s so triumphant, he doesn’t notice. I’m sure there’s some special long German word meaning “the joy you feel at your rival’s sexual impotence,” and right now Richard has it with bells on.

“Poor guy,” he adds, as he finally notices my disapproving look. “I mean, I feel for him, obviously. Nasty affliction.”

“You have no evidence for this,” I point out.

“It’s his honeymoon,” retorts Richard. “Who doesn’t do it on their honeymoon unless he can’t get it up?”

“Can’t get what up?” Noah’s voice pipes louder.

“Nothing, darling,” I say hastily to Noah. “Just something very grown-up and boring.”

“Is it a grown-up thing that goes up?” asks Noah with piercing curiosity. “Does it ever go down?”

“He can’t get it up!” Richard is exultant. “It all falls into place. Poor old Lottie.”

“Who can’t get it up?” says Lorcan, turning toward us.

“Ben,” says Richard.

“Really?” Lorcan looks taken aback. “Shit.” He frowns thoughtfully. “Well, that explains a lot.”

Oh God. This is how rumors start. This is how misunderstandings happen and archdukes get shot and world wars begin.

“Listen, both of you!” I say fiercely. “Lottie has said
nothing
whatsoever to me about anything being up … or down.”

“Mine is up,” volunteers Noah matter-of-factly, and I gasp in horror before I can stop myself.

OK, Fliss. Don’t overreact. Be cool. Be an enlightened parent.

“Really, darling? Gosh. Well.” My cheeks have flamed. Both men are waiting with expressions of glee. “That’s … that’s interesting, sweetheart. Maybe we’ll have a little talk about it later. Our bodies do wonderful, mysterious things, but we don’t always talk about them
in public
.” I give a meaningful look at Richard.

Noah seems perplexed. “But the lady talked about it. She told me to put it up.”

“What?”
I stare at him in equal confusion.

“For takeoff. ‘Put your tray table up.’ ”

“Oh.” I gulp. “Oh, I see. Your
tray table
.” I can feel a snort of mirth rising.

“Poor Uncle Ben’s tray table doesn’t go up,” says Richard, deadpan.

“Stop!” I try to sound admonishing, but I’m in fits of laughter. “I’m sure it does—” I break off as the air hostess’s voice comes over the sound system.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? I have a very important announcement.”

Uh-oh. I hope the old lady’s OK. I suddenly feel mortified that we’ve been laughing while a drama’s going on.

“I regret to inform you that, due to a medical emergency on board, the plane will be unable to land at Ikonos as originally planned but will be landing at our nearest available airport with full medical facilities, which, at this moment, is Sofia.”

I’m pinned to the seat with shock. My hilarity has melted away. We’re being
diverted
?

“I do apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you and will of course give you any further information when I have it.”

A ruckus of protest has broken out all around me, but I barely hear it. This cannot be happening. Lorcan turns to me incredulously.

“Sofia,
Bulgaria
? How many hours will that delay us?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?” Noah is looking from face to face. “Mummy, what’s wrong? Who’s Sofia?”

“It’s a place.” I swallow hard. “Turns out we’re going there first. Won’t that be fun?” I glance again at Richard. He’s lost all his ebullience too. He’s sagged right down and is gazing at the seat back with a savage scowl.

“Well, that’s it. We’ll be too late. I thought we had a chance to get there before they … you know.” He spreads his hands. “But now it’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible!” I retort, trying to reassure myself as much as him. “Richard, listen. The truth is, Lottie’s so-called marriage is already falling to bits.”

I wasn’t going to say as much as that, but I think he needs a shot of confidence in the arm.

“You don’t know that,” he growls.

“I do! What you don’t know is, there’s a history here. Every time Lottie breaks up with someone, she does this.”

“She gets
married
?” Richard looks scandalized. “Every time?”

“No!” I want to laugh at his expression. “I just mean she does something rash and idiotic. And then she comes to. I’ll probably get off the plane and find a text waiting for me, saying,
Fliss, I made a huge mistake! Help!
”

I can see Richard digesting this idea. “You really think so?”

“Believe me, I’ve been here before. I call them her Unfortunate Choices. Sometimes she joins a cult, sometimes she gets a tattoo.… Think of this marriage as an extreme piercing. Right this minute, they’re doing a Couples’ Quiz,” I add to encourage him. “I mean, what a joke! They haven’t got a clue about each other. Lottie will see that, and she’ll start to think straight, and then she’ll realize.”

“Couples’ Quiz?” says Richard after a pause. “You mean like that TV game?”

“Exactly. Like, ‘What is your partner’s favorite meal that you cook for her?’ That kind of thing.”

“Spaghetti carbonara,” says Richard, without missing a beat.

“There you go.” I squeeze his hand. “If you guys did it, you’d win. Ben and Lottie are going to tank. Then she’ll come to her senses. You wait and see.”

15
LOTTIE

It’s a game. Just a game. It doesn’t mean
anything
.

Even so, I’m feeling more irritable by the second. Why can’t I remember this stuff? And, more to the point, why can’t Ben? Isn’t he
interested
in the details of my life?

We’re sitting in the hotel garden with ten minutes to go before Couples’ Quiz starts, and I’ve never felt less prepared for a test in my life. Ben is lying in a hammock, drinking beer and playing some new rap song on his iPad, which really isn’t improving my mood.

“Let’s go again,” I say. “And, this time, concentrate. What shampoo do I use?”

“L’Oréal.”

“No!”

“Head and Shoulders, extra strong for monster dandruff.” He smirks.

“No!” I kick him. “I
told
you. Kerastase. And you use Paul Mitchell.”

“Do I?” he says blankly.

I feel instant rage boiling up inside me. “What do you
mean, ‘do I’? You told me you use Paul Mitchell! We have to be on the same page for this, Ben. If you say Paul Mitchell once, you have to
stick
to Paul Mitchell!”

“Jesus.” Ben takes a sip of beer. “Lighten up.” He turns up the volume on his iPad, and I flinch. Does he really like that music?

“Let’s do another.” I try to control my impatience. “What’s my favorite alcoholic drink?”

“Smirnoff Ice.” He grins.

“Funny,” I say politely.

No wonder he didn’t make it as a comedian
. The bitchy thought comes from nowhere. Oops. I clench my lips together, praying my expression isn’t readable. I didn’t mean it, of course I didn’t.…

Richard would have made an effort
. The even bigger thought flashes through my head like a powerful bird in flight, leaving me breathless in its wake. I blink at my piece of paper, feeling hot about the face. I’m not going to think about Richard. No. Absolutely not.

Richard would have thought Couples’ Quiz was ridiculous too, but, the difference is, he’d have made an effort, because if it mattered to me it would matter to him—

Stop it.

Like the time he did charades at my office party and everyone loved him—

LISTEN UP, STUPID BRAIN. Richard is OUT of my life. Right now he’s probably fast asleep on the other side of the world in some glossy San Francisco apartment block, having forgotten all about me, and I’m with my husband—repeat, husband—

“
The Jeweled Path
? Are you serious?”

I’ve been wrangling so hard with my thoughts, I didn’t
notice Ben pick up the crib sheet I prepared for him earlier. Now he’s staring at it incredulously.

“What?”

“The
Jeweled Path
can’t be your favorite book.” He looks up from the paper. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking,” I say, nettled. “Have you read it? It’s brilliant.”

“I wasted thirty valuable seconds of my life downloading it and skimming the first chapter.” He pulls a face. “I want those thirty seconds back.”

“You obviously missed the point,” I say, offended. “It’s really insightful if you read it carefully.”

“It’s a pile of new-age shit.”

“Not according to eighty million readers.” I’m glaring at him.

“Eighty million morons.”

“Well, what’s your favorite book, then?” I grab the piece of paper to see, but my gaze is halted. I clap a hand over my mouth in shock and raise my eyes to his. “That’s
not
how you vote?”

“Don’t you?”

“No!”

We’re staring at each other as though we’ve discovered we’re aliens. I swallow twice, then look at the sheet again.

“OK! Right.” I’m trying not to give away how disconcerted I feel. “So … so obviously we need to recap on a few basics. Voting preference we’ve covered … favorite pasta?”

“Depends on the sauce,” he says promptly. “Stupid question.”

“Well, I like tagliatelle. You say tagliatelle too. Favorite TV show?”

“Dirk and Sally.”

“
Dirk and Sally
, definitely.” He grins, and the atmosphere lifts a shade.

“Favorite episode?” I can’t help asking.

“Let me think.” His face lights up. “The one with the lobsters. Classic.”

“No, the wedding,” I object. “It
has
to be the wedding. ‘With this Smith and Wesson 59, I thee wed.’ ”

I watched that episode about ninety-five times. It was Dirk and Sally’s second wedding (after they’d divorced and left the force and been recruited back in season four), and it was the best TV wedding
ever
.

“No, the kidnap double bill.” Ben has sat up in his hammock and is hugging his knees. “That was epic. Hey, listen.
Listen
.” His face brightens. “We’ll do it as Dirk and Sally.”

“What?” I stare at him, puzzled. “Do what?”

“The quiz! I can’t remember any of this shit.” He waves my crib sheet at me. “But I know what Sally likes and you know what Dirk likes. We’ll be them, not us.”

He can’t be serious. Is he serious? A giggle rises out of me before I can help myself.

“I mean, we can’t do any
worse
, can we?” Ben adds. “I know everything about Sally. Test me.”

“OK, what shampoo does she use?” I challenge him.

Ben screws up his face to think. “I know this.… It’s Silvikrin. It’s in the opening sequence. What’s Dirk’s favorite drink?”

“Bourbon straight up,” I say without missing a beat. “Easy. When’s Sally’s birthday?”

“June twelfth, and Dirk always gets her white roses. When’s yours?” he asks, looking alarmed. “It’s not soon, is it?”

He’s right. We know the marriage of a fictional TV detective
couple better than we know our own. It’s so ridiculous I can’t help grinning at him.

“OK, Dirk, it’s a deal.” I look up to see Nico approaching, flanked by Georgios and Hermes. The Three Stooges, as Ben’s started calling them. We’re in the most secluded, hidden spot in the garden, but even so, they managed to track us down. They’ve been hovering round us endlessly all afternoon, offering drinks, snacks, and even appearing with the most unflattering Ikonos-branded sun hats in case we were getting overheated.