Page 2 of The Impossible Fortune
THURSDAY
2
Elizabeth is starting to feel again. Precisely what she is starting to feel, she couldn’t say. But there’s something there, and it’s not just the brandy. She’s on alert, but, as yet, with no idea why.
To her left, Ron raises a pint to the Sussex sunset. ‘I’ve been to a lot of weddings, mainly my own, but that was the best yet. To Joanna.’
‘To Joanna,’ says Ibrahim, raising a whisky. During the ceremony he had cried even more than Joyce.
‘And to Paul,’ says Joyce. ‘Don’t forget Paul.’
‘Hell of a speech his best man made,’ says Ron.
The best man. Elizabeth has been thinking about him.
‘He was nervous,’ says Joyce.
‘Either way,’ says Ron, ‘you don’t throw up. It’s not your wedding, mate.’
‘He pulled focus,’ agrees Ibrahim.
Even before the unfortunate vomiting, there was something off about the man. Was that what Elizabeth has been feeling? She could have sworn he looked at her at one point. Just a glance but a deliberate one.
‘What did you make of it all, Elizabeth?’ Ibrahim asks.
Elizabeth thinks for a while, and musters a small smile. The smile is real, she knows that, and she knows that oneday it will be bigger. ‘It was wonderful – they looked very happy. And Joyce looks very happy.’
‘She’s half a bottle of Champagne to the good,’ says Ron.
Joyce gives a slight hiccup. The four friends watch the sunset in silence, the stone terrace of the grand house all to themselves. From inside, the sound of music and laughing.
Elizabeth looks at her friends, and thinks about Stephen. Joyce spots it – Joyce spots everything – and puts her hand on Elizabeth’s arm.
‘Thank you for coming though, Elizabeth,’ says Joyce. ‘I know it’s still hard.’
‘Nonsense,’ says Elizabeth, ready to launch into a lecture about self-reliance. But Joyce is right: it is still hard. Almost impossible, in fact. She takes another sip of brandy and looks down. ‘Nonsense.’
Elizabeth turns as Joanna steps through a set of double doors onto the terrace. ‘Well, I wondered where you’d all crept off to. What are you doing? Shooting up?’
Ron stands and hugs her. ‘Just looking for five minutes’ peace. How’s the best man?’
‘Nick?’ says Joanna. ‘He’s rehydrating.’
Nick, that was the name. Nick Silver.
‘And the tablecloth?’ Ibrahim asks.
‘Ruined,’ says Joanna. ‘That’ll be coming out of the deposit. Now who’s coming for a dance? Mum? Everyone wants to dance with you. They seem to find you charming.’
‘I am charming,’ says Joyce, then hiccups again. ‘That’s where you get it from.’
Ron helps Joyce to her feet. ‘Perhaps Paul’s dad might like a dance, Joyce?’
‘Not interested,’ says Joyce.
‘I mean,’ says Ibrahim, ‘you did have your hand on his knee for the entire meal.’
‘I was welcoming him to the family,’ says Joyce.
