Page 4 of Wedding Games
‘Tuck in, big man,’ urged Morag. ‘We’ve already eaten and you’re looking a little pale.’
‘Where’s Fi, Dunc, and Liam?’ he asked.
Morag rolled her eyes. ‘They said it was too loud for the wee one and took him home.’
‘And Jim?’
Morag looked off into the middle distance, a smile on her face. ‘He didn’t want to interrupt our girly catch up. He’s so thoughtful.’
Rory cleared his throat. ‘Indeed. And I think Zoe and I should get out of your hair as well.’
‘No, no, no!’ cried Mary.
‘We don’t want to cramp your style,’ he continued.
Mary pulled his head to her chest and smothered him in a tight embrace. ‘You’re such a good man. How did you turn out so different from your father?’
‘MUM!’
Mary leapt back, her hand over her mouth. ‘Oops! Sorry, Rory.’
He smiled. ‘It’s okay, Mary. I know exactly what he was like. You don’t have to pretend he was something different just because he’s dead.’
‘It’s just you look so much like him,’ Mary continued, staring at Rory with unfocussed eyes.
Zoe could see his shoulders start to hunch. The last thing he ever wanted was to be likened to his dad.
‘Mum, Morag, why don’t we go into the kitchen, and let Rory eat his steak in peace?’
‘You have his looks but you don’t have his personality,’ said Mary, completely ignoring her daughter. She frowned. ‘And it’s not like you have your mum’s, either.’
Oh god. If her mother was skating on thin ice talking about Rory’s father, now she was about to smash it with a sledgehammer.
‘Och, aye,’ agreed Morag.
‘Mum, Morag,’ Zoe said sharply. ‘Kitchen.’
Mary patted Rory’s head as if he was the faithful family dog.
‘You’re so kind. And caring. And thoughtful. But your mum—’
A loud banging on the back door stopped Mary before Zoe did.
Thank fuck.
Morag glanced at her watch. ‘I wonder who that could be,’ she mumbled, before giving an exaggerated wink to Mary. ‘I wonder if it’s Big Jim wanting a booty call.’
Mary snorted with laughter and Zoe grabbed her arm as Morag left the room.
‘Sit down,’ she hissed in her mother’s ear. ‘And don’t say another word about Rory’s parents.’
Her mum nodded and pantomimed zipping her mouth shut.
With the ear plugs in, Zoe couldn’t hear Morag’s exchange in the kitchen. She glanced across the dining room table at Rory, who shrugged. He cut a big piece off his steak and started eating.
Morag opened the door, her face cycling through twenty different expressions, none of them positive.
Behind her, entering the room with a look of disdain reserved for a toddler who just crapped in her swimming pool, was Lady Barbara Bauer, the Dowager Countess of Kinloch.
