Page 58 of In the Same Boat

‘Ah,’ Hank says. ‘Well, that’s okay, we’ve seen enough of each other today, we’re happy to sit in two twos, aren’t we?’

‘Of course,’ Mum adds. ‘Not a problem.’

I open my mouth to speak but Hank gets in there first.

‘Chrissy and I will take one table, Nico and Sammie can have the other.’

Shiiiit. Obviously I was going to bagsy the table with my mum – and bloody Hank would be my second choice. I’d sit with the host, before I’d choose Nico.

Nico looks at the floor.

‘Can you push the two tables together?’ I dare to ask.

The look on her face tells me I shouldn’t have wasted my breath.

‘No,’ she says plainly. ‘We haven’t been able to accommodate you at tables that are next to each other.’

‘It’s fine, isn’t it?’ Mum says to me. ‘We can manage.’

I turn to Nico.

‘It’s fine,’ he says.

Wow, he knows how to make a girl feel special.

‘Can we get a bottle of Ruinart for each table, please?’ Hank asks. ‘And do replace them, as they empty, please.’

I notice Nico looks uncomfortable at his dad’s display of wealth. In fact, I think he’s almost relieved when we are led to the first table, a small, shaded one near the edge of the terrace with a perfect view of the marina – and where we aren’t overlooked by anyone.

We take our seats opposite each other and, for a moment, neither of us says a word. Well, I’m not sure what there is to say that hasn’t been said by the filthy looks we both shot our parents for palming us off on each other.

So it’s just the two of us, a crisp white tablecloth-topped table, an awkward silence, and now a bottle of champagne.

‘Well,’ Nico says. ‘This is sort of awkward.’

I nod.

A waiter appears between us.

‘Some oysters, for the happy couple?’ he asks.

‘No thanks,’ Nico replies.

‘And now it’s really awkward,’ I say when we’re alone again.

Nico laughs.

The waiter returns to pour table water and give us our menus. The menu, naturally, is in French with English descriptions – descriptions that taste good even when you read them. Lobster linguine. Truffle risotto. Grilled sea bass. A salad that costs thirty euros. The audacity of a thirty-euro salad – now I really want to try it.

Looking over the prices makes me sit up a little straighter.

‘Wow.’

Nico looks over his menu.

‘What?’

‘It’s… er… nothing,’ I insist. I’m surprised he isn’t recoiling too, but then again, he’s got a rich dad.