Page 95 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘We’re dancing here?’ Emma says, her self-conscious persona coming into view, assuming we’re all going to be bopping around my jute shopper. ‘Just us?’
‘There are others.’ I gesture to the back of the bar where Astrid and Farah are sitting at tables. Others are dotted around: Naoko and the Japanese teachers all with drinks that aren’t cider, Ellie and Ryan playing arcade games (loudly), and Sam and Helen. They’ve come with gifts today: stories of how Carrie threw a Harry Potter mug at Ross after she found out about Liz and took out his two front teeth. No news on whether Liz’s face is still intact though we’ll find out at the school gate tomorrow. Tomorrow. When the world goes back to normal.
The sisters all study my face for a moment as I half-jog on the spot. ‘Yeah, I just have to keep moving for a bit,’ I say.
Gracie?You OK, hun?Is she losing the plot? We’ll stay here, of course, and try and partake but is this a sad Grace thing?It is the same look they gave me when, after Tom’s death, I told them I was going to travel. Around the world. On my own. Like a world-tour-of-grief thing. Is this what people do? Meg’s eyes scan to the ceiling. She also doesn’t understand this music. There are no lyrics.
Lucy claps her hands together to rally them. It’s dance. She doesn’t question the why. ‘Girls, you know we’re doing this,’ she says, clearing a space, her shoulders rolling into action. She don’t need no music.
‘But we have to get off early tomorrow for the drive back…’ Meg says, her teeth gritted.
‘What’s an hour or two later?’ her husband, Danny, says, winking at me.
‘And you… B? You up for it?’ I say.
Beth looks completely aghast. It would seem she was pushed out of the house in a onesie and Uggs so stands there wondering if she’s even allowed to be seen in public.
‘Well, the baby needs the exposure to the Bristol music scene. Just don’t expect any big dance moves from me,’ she says. I hug her. ‘I know this also sounds shit but do they do tea here?’
Lucy takes my jute shopper and puts it in a nearby bin. ‘It’s bad enough bringing Emma into this place, ditch the old-lady shopper, yeah?’
Emma scowls at her as she and Jag head to greet Doug, who looks at me and lifts a beer bottle in my direction. Tom from behind the bar dims the lights and makes the music a little more in keeping. Disco. How apt. I put two thumbs up at him. I think back to a time when this place used to be packed to the rafters, throbbing to the bass of a Barry White anthem. From somewhere, I hear Lucy shrill and excitable. Jag drags Emma by the hand to a makeshift dancefloor. He has moves we did not know about. A hand falls to my shoulder.
‘Are you OK?’ Meg asks me, looking me straight in the eye.
I shrug my shoulders. ‘Who knows any more? You are dancing, right?’
‘I’ll need a couple of shots first to keep up with Lucy.’
We look over and she’s being borderline inappropriate – forming some sort of twerky sandwich between Astrid and Farah. I make a note to look out for them later, keep them off any boats in the vicinity. We laugh and Meg pulls me into a hug.
‘Can you help me with something actually?’ I ask.
‘Anything…’
‘I think I want to write a book.’
She smiles. ‘I can do that. I can help at least. You got a name for it yet?’
‘Nah… it’s quite a story though. It starts in a club. In Bristol.’
Epilogue
‘I am sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t see that. Please let me buy you another drink. Or order one from the air hostess, ladyperson. Oh dear…’
The woman scans down to the two little people next to me, eyes big and curious. They aren’t naughty per se but I got them on this plane with all the skill of a gangly ape, juggling bags and blankets and sippy bottles in narrow aisles, so as soon as I’d put them down and ushered Cleo into a seat, I backed into the lady behind me and her drink. Urgh, I am awful at this already and I’m only a week in. What was I thinking? I know. My husband has died and so I will adopt two girls from his past life at the request of their grandmother because, of course, that is a totally natural state of affairs to adopt two children you’ve only known for a matter of months. I’ve romanticised this far too much in my own head. I haven’t even parented on land before and now I’m going to do this in the air. They’ve never even been on a plane before. I should have roped in a sister to help. Asked their grandmother to come with. I did actually. But she refused.I’ll come out in a few months to visit. You need to do this on your own. You will be fine. I marvel at how she has such faith in me. No. I can do this. I can do this myself. I am a capable young woman. Look at them with their tiny bushbaby eyes. Shit. What am I doing? I wasn’t very good at travelling to start off with. I mainly got drunk in all these countries I went to, lost a shoe in Amsterdam and got suspected salmonella in New York. Little Maya stands on the seat and puts her arms up for me to carry her. I hold her close.
‘Breathe,’ the woman tells me.
‘Sorry. I… it really was an accident.’
‘It was water, I’ll live,’ she says, trying to catch Cleo’s eye. ‘I tell you a secret. I sometimes ask for the bulkhead seats as I know families will be sitting here. I like meeting new babies.’
That statement calms me for a moment; at least she’s here out of choice as opposed to being stuck with two kids on a twelve-hour flight from Singapore. She holds her hand out for Cleo to shake but Cleo buries her head into my stomach.
‘How old are they?’ the woman asks.
‘One and three. This is Maya and this is Cleo.’
