Laphroaig for Chrissy and a double Baileys for me, since we’re celebrating.’
Gibbs tensed. No one had ever referred to him as ‘Chrissy’ before. He prayed it wouldn’t happen again, but didn’t want to make an issue of it. Fuck. Did the concierge think he called himself Chrissy? He hoped it was obvious from his appearance that he didn’t and wouldn’t.
Olivia draped herself across the bar while she waited, revealing even more of her world-class cleavage. Gibbs noticed the concierge looking while pretending not to. All men did it all the time, but none as skilfully as Gibbs, in his own not-so-humble opinion.
‘No ice in either,’ Olivia said. ‘Oh, and whatever you’re having, obviously – let’s not forget you! A double of something yummy and hugely alcoholic for you!’
Gibbs was glad she was as drunk as she was. Sober, earlier, she’d been a bit much for him, but he knew how to deal with drunks; he’d arrested enough of them. Admittedly, most weren’t wearing funny-shaped gold dresses that had cost two thousand pounds, as Olivia had told him hers had. He’d done a double-take, expressed disbelief, and she’d laughed at him.
‘Kind of you, madam, but I’m fine, thank you,’ said the concierge.
‘Did I say no ice? I can’t remember if I said it or only thought it. That’s always happening to me. Neither of us likes ice, do we?’ Olivia turned to Gibbs, then, before he had a chance to respond, back to the concierge. ‘We didn’t know we had anything in common – I mean, look at us! We’re so different! – but then it turned out that we both hate ice.’
‘A lot of people do,’ said the concierge, smiling. Perhaps there was nothing he liked more than to stay up all night, dressed like a butler from the 1920s, serving drinks to a loud posh woman and an unfriendly copper who’d had way too many already. ‘Then again, a lot of people don’t.’
Give us the drinks and spare us the tedious observations. Gibbs had grabbed his Laphroaig and was on his way back to their table when he heard Olivia say, ‘Aren’t you going to ask what we’re celebrating?’ He didn’t know whether it’d be rude to leave her to it, whether he ought to go back and join her; it took him less than a second to decide he didn’t care. If she and the Jeeves lookalike wanted to bore each other to death, that was their lookout. Gibbs had his drink, the extra one that he hadn’t thought he was going to get; that was all he wanted.
‘We’ve been to a wedding today, and guess what?’ Olivia’s voice blared out behind him. ‘There was no one else there! Apart from the bride and groom, I mean. My sister Charlie was the bride. Chris and I were the two witnesses and the only guests.’
No more ‘Chrissy’, then. Thank God for that.
‘They chose one each,’ Olivia went on. ‘Charlie chose me and Simon chose . . . Sorry, did I mention Simon? He’s my sister’s husband – as of today! Simon Waterhouse. The groom.’ She said it as if the concierge ought to have heard of him.
Gibbs felt a bit irked, probably only because he was hammered, that she hadn’t finished her sentence: and Simon chose Chris. It was clear enough, even though she hadn’t spelled it out. If they’d chosen one witness each and Charlie had chosen Olivia, then Waterhouse must have chosen Gibbs. Not that the hotel concierge needed to know that. It was true whether he knew it or not.
Yesterday, before setting off to Torquay, Gibbs had asked his wife Debbie why she thought Waterhouse had picked him. ‘Why not you?’ she’d said without lifting her eyes from the shirt she was ironing, clearly not interested in discussing it. There was no room in her head for anything but her IVF at the moment. She’d gone in for the embryo transfer on Tuesday – two had been implanted, the two healthiest specimens. Gibbs hoped to God he didn’t end up with twins. One would be . . .
Bad enough? No, not bad, exactly. Hard, though. And if the embryos didn’t take, if Debbie still wasn’t pregnant after all the hassle they’d had and all the cash they’d handed over, that would be even harder. The worst thing was having to talk about the lack of a baby endlessly, when it bored Gibbs so much and he wasn’t allowed to say that it did. He didn’t care