Page 35 of Broken Country

“Something my fiancée”—he breaks off to grin at me—“doesn’t have a say in. She’d have me trussed up in a purple suit, no doubt.”

Trays of whisky are circulating through the pub. Jimmy takes two glasses from a passing tray, offers one to me,downs both of them when I refuse. I’ve never acquired a taste for whisky.

“Oof,” he says, turning to me, eyes streaming.

“Horrible?” I ask.

“Actually pretty good.”

Helen comes up to us, hugging Jimmy first, then me. “This is the best news. Let me make you a suit, Jimmy. I’ve been wanting to try my hand at men’s tailoring.”

“He’s thinking purple,” I tell her, and Jimmy laughs.

When Jimmy begins another conversation, Helen and I talk in our learned language of glances and half phrases.

“How’s Frank?” she says, and we both turn to look at my husband, standing a foot away, surrounded by friends, laughing.

“He’s good,” I say. “We both are.”

Because in this moment, it’s true.

With all this festive fever none of us notice how drunk Jimmy is getting until Andy Morris, the local bobby, reaches out and places one palm in the small of his back, keeping him upright. He’s a good guy, Andy, we have known him for years. Plenty of times he delivered Jimmy back to us blind drunk in his delinquent, pre-Nina years. He got into fights, was caught drunk driving without a license, and, every single time, Andy let him off with a warning. He understood, like everyone in the village understood, the loss of his mother had hit Jimmy hard.

“Steady on, lad” is all Andy says. “Maybe give the whisky a break?”

“Are you joking?” Jimmy says, spilling a bit of his pint as he throws his arm around Andy’s shoulders. “I’m getting married. It’s traditional for the bridegroom to get very drunk.”

I glance at Frank, raise my eyebrows a fraction, a warning he understands instantly.

He puts his arm around me, murmurs in my ear. “His night, isn’t it?”

There is a sudden quiet, voices dipping, a few people turning to stare before I see for myself Gabriel has walked into the pub. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him in here.

Gabriel has not made any effort with the villagers since he arrived. I don’t blame him. He’s lived away from home for most of his life, and he always said he didn’t fit in here. The people know him without knowing him. It’s an uncomfortable dissonance and it makes them wary.

When Gabriel sees me, standing close to the bar, surrounded by family, his face tenses. Quite suddenly, we are in a goldfish bowl.

“What can I get you?” Nina’s dad asks him.

“A pint of bitter, please, and a lemonade—?” He turns to me with an apologetic shrug.

“Leo’s in the car. I know it’s late. Just felt I needed to get out.”

“Why don’t I go and keep him company and you can drink your pint in peace? You won’t be long, will you?”

Before Gabriel can reply Jimmy grabs his arm, spins him around until their faces are inches apart. “You’re not welcome in here.” He almost spits the words, the scorn in his voice sharp as a blade.

“Is that so? Bluntly put,” Gabriel says. “Well, don’t worry, I’m leaving the moment I have my drinks.”

“Lay off, Jimmy,” Frank says, stepping in. “The pub is for everyone.”

Gabriel nods at him, that’s all. But something about the quiet understanding between the two of them inflames Jimmy—he’s on edge anyway, so it doesn’t take much.

“Why don’t you go back to London or wherever you came from? No one wants you here. Get lost.”

None of us see it, the way Jimmy draws back his arm,fist clenched in sudden anger. None of us but Andy, who moves in, quiet and efficient, encircling Jimmy’s chest with his arms. Jimmy flailing and helpless. Andy, soothing, restraining.

“No need for that, lad, on such a happy night,” he says, as Jimmy slackens in his arms. “Fresh air is what we need. Come on, fella, let’s take a turn outside.”

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