“You do yourself a disservice,” says Lorcan. I think he’s trying to be nice. But I’m really not in the mood for flattery.
“You know what I mean.” I lean forward. “Would you wish the sheer hell of divorce on someone you cared about? Or would you try to prevent it?”
“So you’re going to arrive out of the blue, tell her to get an annulment and marry Richard. You think she’ll listen?”
I shake my head. “It’s not like that. I happen to think Richard’s great and perfect for Lottie, but I’m not going out there under the banner of Team Richard. Richard will have to be his own team. I’m on Team Don’t Mess Your Life Up.”
“Providential for you that they’ve had such a nightmare of a honeymoon,” says Lorcan, raising an eyebrow.
There’s a brief, charged pause in which I wonder whether to tell him about my secret operation—then decide against it.
“Yes,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. “Lucky.”
Noah comes pattering up again, his feet leaving wet marks in the deep-gray carpet. He snuggles onto my knee and at once I feel myself lighten. Noah carries hope round with him like an aura, and whenever I touch him a little bit of it filters into me.
“Here!” Suddenly he’s waving at someone. “This table!”
“Here we are.” A waitress appears, bearing a silver tray on which is an ice-cream sundae. “For the brave little soldier. You must be so proud,” she adds to me.
Oh God. Not again. I smile back, my expression carefully vague, trying to hide my embarrassment. I have no idea where we’re heading with this. It could be heart transplant. It could be bone marrow. It could be new puppy.
“Training for three hours a day!” She squeezes Noah’s shoulder. “I admire your dedication! Your son was telling me about his gymnastics,” she adds to me. “Thinking of the Olympics 2024, are you?”
My smile freezes. His gymnastics? OK, I can’t put this off any longer. I’m having the Talk, right here, right now.
“Thank you,” I manage. “Wonderful. Thank you so much.” As soon as the waitress has disappeared, I turn to Noah. “Darling. Listen to me. This is important. You know the difference between truth and lies, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Noah nods confidently.
“And you know that we mustn’t tell lies.”
“Except to be polite,” chimes in Noah. “Like, ‘I do like your dress!’ ”
This comes from another Big Talk we had, about two months ago, after Noah was disastrously honest about his godmother’s cooking.
“Yes. But generally speaking—”
“And ‘What delicious apple pie!’ ” Noah warms to his theme. “And ‘I’d love some more, but I’m just too full!’ ”
“Yes! OK. But the point is, most of the time we have to be truthful. And not—for example—say that we’ve had a heart transplant when we haven’t.” I’m watching Noah closely for a reaction, but he seems unmoved. “Darling, you haven’t had a heart transplant, have you?” I say gently.
“No,” he agrees.
“But you told the airline staff that you’d had one. Why?”
Noah thinks for a bit. “Because it’s interesting.”
“Right. Well. Let’s be interesting and truthful, OK? From now on, I want you to tell the truth.”
“OK.” Noah shrugs as though it’s neither here nor there. “Can I start my sundae now?” He picks up his spoon and digs in, sending chocolate flakes everywhere.
“Nicely done,” says Lorcan quietly.
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “I just don’t get it. Why does he say this stuff?”
“Big imagination.” Lorcan shrugs. “I wouldn’t worry. You’re a good mother,” he adds, so matter-of-factly that I wonder if I misheard.
“Oh.” I don’t quite know how to react. “Thanks.”
“And you’re like a mother to Lottie too, I’m guessing?” He’s pretty perceptive, this Lorcan.
I nod. “Our own mother didn’t do a great job. I’ve always had to watch out for her.”
“Makes sense.”
“Do you get it?” I look up, suddenly wanting to hear his true opinion. “Do you understand what I’m doing?”
“Which bit?”
“All of it.” I spread my arms wide. “This. Trying to save my sister from the biggest mistake of her life. Am I right, or am I insane?”
Lorcan is silent for a while. “I think you’re very loyal and very protective and I respect you for that. And, yes, you’re insane.”
“Shut up.” I shove him.
“You asked.” He shoves me back and I feel a tiny electric dart, coupled with a flashback to our night together. It’s so graphic that I gasp. Looking at the way Lorcan’s mouth is tightening, I think he’s remembering exactly the same bit.
My skin has started to prickle in a mixture of memory and anticipation. Here we are: the two of us, in a hotel. No-brainer. The thing about great sex is, it’s a gift from God which should be enjoyed to the max. That’s my theory, anyway.
“So, do you have a big suite?” Lorcan asks, as though reading my mind.
“Two bedrooms,” I reply carelessly. “One for me, one for Noah.”
“Ah.”
“Lots of space.”
“Ah.” His eyes are locked onto mine with a promise of more, and I feel an involuntary shiver. Not that we can run upstairs and rip our clothes off straightaway. There is the small matter of my seven-year-old son sitting next to me.
“Shall we … eat?” I suggest.
“Yes!” Noah, finishing his ice-cream sundae, tunes in to the conversation with precision accuracy. “I want a burger and chips!”
An hour later, between the three of us, we’ve eaten one club sandwich, one burger, one bowl of normal fries, one bowl of sweet-potato fries, one platter of shrimp tempura, three chocolate brownies, and a basketful of bread. Beside me, Noah is half asleep on the banquette seat. He’s had a riotous time, darting around the bar, making friends with all the Bulgarian prostitutes, scoring Cokes and packets of crisps and even some Bulgarian money, which, to his dismay, I made him give straight back.
Now a six-piece band is playing and everyone is listening, and the lights are even dimmer than before, and I’m feeling fairly blissful. I’ve mellowed after my three glasses of wine. Lorcan’s hand keeps brushing against mine. We have an entire empty, delicious night ahead of us. I reach over to take the last sweet-potato chip from the bowl and glimpse Noah’s precious airline wallet on the seat next to him. It’s stuffed with what look like credit cards. Where on earth did he get those?
“Noah?” I nudge him awake. “Sweetheart, what have you got in your wallet?”
“Credit cards,” he says sleepily. “I found them.”
“You found credit cards?” My blood freezes. Oh God. Has he stolen someone’s credit cards? I grab the wallet and pull out the cards in consternation. But they’re not credit cards after all. They’re—
“Room keys!” says Lorcan, as I pull out about seven at once. The entire wallet is stuffed with electronic room keys. He must have about twenty of them.
“Noah!” I shake him awake again. “Darling, where did you get these from?”
“I told you, I found them,” he says resentfully. “People put them down on tables and things. I wanted some credit cards for my wallet.…” His eyes are already closing again.
I look up at Lorcan, my hands full of room keys splayed out like playing cards.
“What do I do? I’ll have to give them back.”
“They all look the same,” observes Lorcan, and gives a snort of laughter. “Good luck with that.”
“Don’t laugh! It’s not funny! There’ll be a riot when everyone finds out they’re locked out of their rooms.…” I look again at the electronic cards and suddenly snuffle with laughter myself.