Page 18 of Wedding Games
Barbara’s rigid countenance softened slightly. ‘Thank you.’
‘Rightie ho, then,’ said Morag. ‘Let’s go and rehearse dinner.’
Zoe satat the head of the table, relieved there were plenty of people between her mother and Barbara. Jamie may have been sitting opposite Sam but looked as sick as a dog stuck between his mum and Mary. The two women constantly invaded his personal space to talk to each other, whilst occasionally patting him on the head as if he was seven, not twenty-seven. Zoe mouthed a “sorry” at him and he rolled his eyes.
Earlier, as her mother and Morag had stumbled towards the dining room, Zoe had grabbed Clive and told him to water down their wine. So far, the meal had progressed without incident, with both women too drunk and distracted by each other to notice. But Zoe’s heart still skipped with anxiety. What might happen now that her mum had left her politeness filters and sobriety back in England?
Clive’s team cleared the main course and Mary reached across the table and grabbed Arnold’s glass. She lifted it to the light, compared it with hers, and tasted it.
Zoe’s stomach turned over. ‘Wasn’t the beef delicious?’ she asked her mother.
‘Have you been watering down my wine?’ Mary replied before leaning across Jamie. ‘Morag, check yours against Big Jim’s.’
Oh god.
Morag slurped from Jim’s glass, grabbed Duncan’s to taste his, then pushed Jamie out of the way to confer with Mary in whispers loud enough to wake a sedated elephant.
‘Mine tastes like weak blackcurrant squash compared to theirs.’
Mary took Jamie’s half empty glass, downed it, and nodded. ‘It’s a conspiracy.’
Morag raised her arm. ‘Clive!’ she trumpeted. ‘Can you kindly get me and my esteemed friend here some full fat plonk toot suite, s’il vous plait?’
Clive glanced at Zoe; his face frozen with indecision.
Zoe frantically shook her head at him in response.
Clive cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid we’re out of wine.’
‘Out of wine?’ Morag exclaimed.
The table fell silent.
‘But you own a bloody pub!’
Clive pulled the collar of his dress shirt away from his neck, clearly uncomfortable with lying. Zoe’s heart thudded faster and faster in her chest.
Clive cleared his throat. ‘We’ve had a delivery issue because of the tree.’
‘What tree?’ demanded Morag, her eyes narrowing.
‘Mum,’ said Jamie. ‘Shush.’
‘Don’t you shush me, Jamie ma boy,’ she replied.
Jim put his hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off.
‘Anyway, there’s enough booze in the cellars to sort us out,’ Morag continued. ‘Isn’t that right, Rory?’
Zoe caught Rory’s eye and mimed lifting a bag.
He stood.
‘There’s a good lad,’ said Morag.
‘I want to thank you all so much for being here,’ he began.
‘Eh?’ said Morag.
