whirring in a nasty, ominous way.
Is Dan borrowing money? Is Dan borrowing money without telling me, from my own mother? A million pounds, maybe two?
I don’t want to be a suspicious wife. I don’t. I’m not. There’s an explanation; I know there is. Maybe he’s won the Lottery.
No. He and Mummy did not look like Lottery winners. Quite the opposite, in fact.
At last Cedric presses his business card on me and disappears. I glance over at the girls, who are playing safely with Esme, then head towards Dan. He’s on his own now, all hunched and miserable-looking, gazing at his phone.
‘Hi!’ I say in a breezy, non-suspicious way. ‘I saw you chatting to Mummy just now.’
Dan’s eyes lift to mine and for an instant – just an instant – I see undiluted fear in them. But then it’s gone. His eyes have closed up. Did I imagine it?
‘Right,’ he says with a discouraging frown.
I try again. ‘Nice to see you two getting along.’
‘Right. Actually, Sylvie, I’ve got to make a call. Great speech, by the way,’ he shoots back over his shoulder as he strides away.
For a few seconds I just watch him go, trying to keep my breath steady, while my brain begins on an angry fishwife rant. He didn’t look me in the eye. He rushed off. He barely had anything to say about my speech, which, after all, was quite a big deal for me, even if it was crap. He was all frowning and tentery while I was making it. (I noticed.) Nor did he even clap very hard when I finished. (I noticed that, too.)
At last I wheel round, head to the drinks table and grab a spare bottle of champagne. I head to where three lurid red foam chairs have been pushed together to form a kind of sofa. Sue is sitting down (her shoes have uncomfortable-looking stiletto heels, I now notice) and her cheeks are rosy. I guess she’s been necking the champagne, too.
‘Hi,’ I say, flopping down beside her. ‘How are you doing, Sue?’
‘Oh, Sylvie.’ She regards me with slightly bloodshot eyes. ‘What a speech. I was quite choked up.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, touched.
‘It must be hard for you.’ She pats my knee. ‘So hard. Dan says you do marvellously, coping with everything.’
Dan does? I blink at her, trying not to give away my surprise. My fury is sliding away. The truth is, I’d always assumed Dan thought I was a complete shambles. Now I want to know more. I want to ask: ‘What else does Dan say about me?’ And: ‘Do you know about this million quid, maybe two?’ But that might cause more problems. So instead, I fill her glass up and lean back with a massive sigh.
‘It is hard,’ I say, nodding. ‘It is. It’s hard.’
As I take yet another gulp of champagne, I feel my brain cells gently tipping over the edge from pleasantly relaxed to actually quite drunk. Glancing at Sue, I’d guess hers are in the same state. Is this a good moment for a full-and-frank?
‘The thing is …’ I begin thoughtfully – then stop. There are so many things. I’ll pick one. Thing One. ‘The thing is, how do you stay married forever?’ I say, more plaintively than I meant to.
Sue laughs. ‘Forever?’
‘For a long time. Sixty-eight years,’ I clarify. Sue gives me a puzzled glance, but I press on. ‘Dan and I look at the future, and we think … we worry, you know?’ I gesture with my glass for emphasis and a little champagne spills out. ‘We think, how do we sustain it? And we look at you, still married after all this time, and we think …’ I trail off awkwardly. (Obviously I can’t say what we really think, which is: Oh my God, how do you stand it?)
But I don’t need to say anything more. Sue has sat up, her face more alert than I’ve ever seen it. As though finally, after all this time, I’m tapping into her special area of expertise.
‘It’s all about retirement,’ she says, and swigs her champagne with fresh determination. ‘All about retirement.’
‘Right,’ I say uncertainly. I wasn’t expecting that, somehow. ‘What exactly do you …’
‘When he retires’ – she eyes me firmly – ‘don’t let him in the house.’
‘Huh?’ I gape at her.
‘Hobbies. Interests. They need interests. Travel. You can manage if you travel. Travel separately!’ she adds. ‘Find some girlfriends. Weekends to Dublin, that kind of thing.’
‘But—’
‘Golf,’ she cuts me off. ‘Neville never would take