Page 41 of Beautiful Losers

I smile apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Kellaway, but your room isn’t ready yet.’

She clicks her tongue and pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head.

‘It’s Kate,’ she says, peeved. ‘Mrs Kellaway is my mother-in-law.’

Kate tucks a strand of hair behind her right ear. It’s a delicate ear, full of delicate earrings – a moon, a star, alightning bolt, a mini cuff on her helix. She’s wearing the vegan trainer brand Cillian and his celebrity clients are obsessed with. Cillian says showing you care and staying on trend aren’t mutually exclusive.

‘Look,’ she says, in a softer tone. ‘Surely you can sort something out? We could really do with freshening up.’

I glance at my phone to check the time. I’ve to head to the supermarket to pick up ingredients for dinner and it’s Myriam’s day off. That leaves Jack, hunched over his laptop at his usual table. I wonder what it would take to convince him to help me out. Kate follows my gaze.

‘Wait, isn’t that … Jack Hamilton?’ she says, straining for a better look. ‘It is! I don’t believe it. Jack Hamilton is stayinghere? Uh, Iloathethat man. Does he seriously think he’s been cancelled? He really ought to check his privilege.’

She turns to me, grabbing my arm, a demented look on her face. ‘You must introduce us.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I suppose he’ll want to sit with us tonight, won’t he? Well, if he thinks he can mansplain his way through dinner, he can think again. I’m raising my daughters to speak their minds. Jack Hamilton is no match for the Kellaway women.’

‘Well, everyone tends to sit where they like for dinner. It’s not a communal thing.’

‘Oh.’ Her face falls. ‘Usually, in these kinds of smaller places, everyone gathers round the same table. It’s more convivial. Gives guests an opportunity to meet new people, broaden their horizons.’

I hesitate, loathe to ask Jack for a favour. But I’ve no choice.

‘Let me see what I can do,’ I say. ‘I’m sure Jack would be delighted.’

~

Jack is not delighted.

‘Absolutely not,’ he says, continuing to type as I plead my case.

‘Oh come on, it’s just one dinner. What’s the big deal?’

‘The big deal is, I’ve met the likes of Kate Kellaway more times than I care to remember. She’s the sort who can’t wait to tell you that the dress she’s wearing is rented in protest against fast fashion and that her kid’s best friend is black. Yet she has no qualms doing the two-minute school run in a monstrous four-by-four, a school which, incidentally, is costing her twelve grand a year and where said best friend is the daughter of a Nigerian prince.’

‘Doesn’t your son go to a ridiculously expensive private school?’

‘I never said I was perfect, Murphy. Though feel free to shoot me if you ever see me in a Chelsea tractor. I just have a hell of a lot more respect for someone who owns who they are. It’s the self-righteous performance of virtuosity I can’t stand.’

‘Come on, Jack. I’m not keen on spending an evening with these guys either, but they’re our first guests. I need this to go well.’

He looks up from his screen and stares at me as he settles back in his chair.

‘What do I get for helping you out?’ he says teasingly.

‘Please, Jack?’ I plead, refusing to submit to the flirtation (if that’s what he’s doing. I can never tell. The last time I was flirted with, Saddam Hussein was still alive and bootcut jeans were in fashion). ‘I really need your help.’

‘What was that I heard?’ He crosses his arms, a satisfied grin on his face. ‘Was that Fiadh Murphy admitting she needs me?’

I roll my eyes. I will not play this game with him.

‘Fine, I say, I’ll do it myself.’

‘Hang on,’ he says as I turn to walk off. ‘I’ll help you.’

‘Yes! Thank you.’ I fist bump the air.

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