To go with it all, I chose a dark blue dress that she persuaded me to buy the last time I’d visited her in Los Angeles. It’s by Versace, close-fitting and beautifully cut, with two straps and a plunging V that absolutely precludes the wearing of a bra. I rummaged in my shoe cupboard … one day I must get round to cataloguing them and putting them in some sort of order … for the pair I’d bought to match, sprinkled some golden sparkly stuff between my tits, and I was done. Almost. I opened my safe and took out a pair of diamond earrings and a matching ring that Oz bought for me on a weekend in London that Susie never knew about. I put them on and then I really was ready for the evening. Had I forgotten something? No, I decided against wearing any, that’s all.
When I went downstairs, at two minutes before eight, the kids were at the table in the kitchen, and Conrad was hard at work creating his legendary salad. Heads turned.
‘Mum?’ Tom murmured, as if he wasn’t sure.
‘Auntie Primavera!’ Janet exclaimed, eyeing me from top to toe and back again.
Even wee Jonathan smiled.
Conrad said nothing, but the look in his eyes told me I’d got it right.
‘I’m going out for the evening,’ I explained. I’d have shrugged, but I wasn’t sure it was safe. Instead I sashayed across to the wine fridge, took out a bottle of pretty decent cava, and looked at my son. ‘Wine waiter wanted,’ I said, haughtily. ‘Front terrace.’
He and Janet rose from the table at the same time, just as the bell chimed, beating those in the church tower by about two seconds. He looked curious, she looked fascinated. I handed him the bottle; he knew what to do.
I went to the door and opened it. Liam had done some dressing up of his own; tan razor-creased trousers, a buckskin jacket and a white silk shirt with a granddad collar, that wore no designer logo and fitted so well that it might have been tailor-made.
‘So where are the fucking flowers?’ I asked, breaking the silence in which we had inspected each other.
He laughed and held his hands up, as if to ward me off. ‘I tried to get some, honest. I asked at the hotel where I could find a bouquet of roses. The receptionist gave me a funny look and said that Sant Jordi’s Day was two months ago. What the hell’s that?’
‘It’s the local version of Valentine’s Day,’ I explained as I led him inside, and up to the first floor. ‘Tom and I observe it. The deal is that he gives her a rose and she gives him a book. I have to tell you that there are a hell of a lot more roses sold around here than there are books.’
I led him out on to the terrace, with its view of the square. ‘This is like Buckingham Palace,’ he said. ‘Do you stand up here and wave to the multitudes?’
‘Only on Christmas Day. Sit down,’ I told him. ‘I thought we’d have a drink before we go down to the restaurant.’ As I spoke, Janet stepped out of the living room, carrying a tray with two champagne flutes. Tom followed, with the cava in an ice bucket. ‘In fact, here are my staff now.’
‘I knew it would be you,’ Janet murmured, quietly triumphant, as she put the tray on the table.
‘Me too,’ Tom added. I’d heard him sound more welcoming. He was still weighing Liam up.
Suddenly, I realised that I’d been discourteous. ‘Tom,’ I said. ‘Go and ask Conrad if he’d like to join us, if he’s done with the salad. And Janet, fetch an extra glass, there’s a love.’
‘Actually,’ Liam intervened, ‘you don’t need that, Primavera. I don’t drink alcohol.’ I must have looked sceptical, for he went on. ‘Honest, I don’t. I’m your atypical Irishman. I gave it up a few years ago, when I was wrestling. Like most of the guys, I had to take painkillers sometimes, and I found the two don’t mix. When you start using booze to dumb the pain, there’s only one way you go after that. So I stopped, and I found that I felt better for it, even when I quit the game and didn’t need the super ibuprofen any longer.’
‘Good for you,’ I told him. ‘What do you drink?’
‘Sparkling water will be fine.’
‘In that case you can have it in a champagne glass.’
Conrad joined us a couple of minutes later, after he’d shed his apron and replaced it with a blazer. ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ Liam said as they shook hands, and glasses were filled. ‘Oz spoke about you a lot. He said that there was nobody else in the world that he’d rather have watching his back … not even Everett Davis.’
‘Who’s Everett Davis?’ Conrad asked.
‘My old boss in the Global Wrestling Alliance. In billing they usually add a few inches to the performer’s real height, but Everett really is seven feet two inches tall and built like a brick shithouse. He scared me witless even when I knew he wasn’t really going to hurt me. So for Oz to say that about you, my friend, you must be one serious geezer.’
I’d never seen Conrad look even close to being flustered before, but he was then. ‘No, no,’ he murmured. ‘I’m just a glorified caretaker.’
‘Funnily enough,’ Liam said, ‘that’s pretty close to how Oz put it. “There is nothing in the whole fucking world that I wouldn’t trust Conrad to take care of.” That’s a direct quote.’
‘In that case, he flattered me. Would you like to know what he said to me about you?’
‘I can almost guess, but go on.’
‘He said, and I’m quoting now, “Once Liam Matthews decided to stop being an arsehole, he turned into a very reasonable human being, one of the few people in the world I trust.” Again, his exact words, which is why I’m not at all worried about you turning up out of the blue. Anyone else wouldn’t have got over the door without me checking him out, even if this is my boss’s house. The children in my charge live in it, which makes me very responsible.’
Liam tipped his glass to Conrad. ‘In which case, I’m glad we’re on the same side.’
We sipped and chatted, but not for long, as the kids still had to be fed and I didn’t want to be too late for my table reservation. When our glasses were empty, I gave Conrad the ice bucket, so that Tom could put a stopper in the cava and return it to the fridge, then led Liam towards the stairs.
My son was waiting at the top. Something was coming off him in waves; I wasn’t sure what it was, but it touched me. ‘Have a nice evening, Mum,’ he said. But he said it in Catalan. I thought that was rude and I almost made him repeat it in English, but decided against. If anything was festering it wouldn’t have been helped by a public correction.
‘What did he say?’ Liam asked, as soon as we were outside.
‘He told me to send him a text if things get out of hand, and he’ll be straight across.’
For a second he thought I was serious, so I gave him the authentic translation. He laughed. ‘You know what, Primavera? That’s what he might have said, but your version is what he really meant.’
Heads turned once more as we walked through the square. Given what I spent on Ms Versace’s creation, I’d have been disappointed if they hadn’t, although I found myself worrying that it was so close-fitting that the world, including Liam, would know that a mid-forties woman was out on the town with no knickers on. But I realised very quickly that they weren’t only looking at me. My companion was a charismatic guy, something that had passed me by until then.
One of the turning heads belonged to Alex Guinart. He and Gloria, and Marte, my goddaughter, are regulars in the square on Saturday evenings; they were at a table in Esculapi. He said, ‘Hello.’ What he really meant was, ‘Oh yeah, and who’s this good-looking stranger?’
I introduced Liam to the family; of course he knew what Alex was from our earlier conversation. ‘Nice to meet you all,’ he murmured, making a point of shaking Marte’s hand too. She put her hand over her eyes and giggled.