“Only until you got expelled, though.” Alistair chortles. “Naughty boy.”
Lachlan winces and I widen my eyes, delight soaring through me. “Oh my god, you were expelled? You?”
He grimaces. “That was in my wild, impulsive days.”
“Was that in the flapper era?”
Alistair looks horrified but Lachlan just chuckles.
“Why were you expelled? Tell me everything right now,” I demand.
Lachlan shrugs. “They used to let us out of school to do cross country on the roads near the school. I wandered off.”
My brow wrinkles. “And you got expelled for that? That’s outrageous. We used to go to the shop during cross country and the other boys made me go in to buy cigarettes. Lots of children had a stroll as well.”
Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “Yes, but did they get seventy miles away?”
“Oh my god, it’s like being married to Phileas Fogg.” I start to laugh and then memory returns. “Hang on. You said you didn’t have any embarrassing moments to tell me about.”
“I don’t. That wasn’t embarrassing. It was excruciatingly awful having to face my father afterwards.” He shrugs. “And it took me fucking ages to pay off the train fare.”
“Hang on. You’re married?” Alistair exclaims.
I refocus my attention on him. As usual, my attention has been captured by Lachlan.
Lachlan nods. “This is my husband Joe.”
I narrow my eyes but keep quiet.
Alistair looks at me with more interest. “So, you’re the one who finally caught Lachlan?”
I shrug. “I was aiming for a trout but what can you do?”
He stares at me for a second and then bursts into laughter and slaps me on the shoulder.
Lachlan grabs my arm to stop me taking a header into the chilli.
“Wow,” Alistair says. “I never thought you’d get married.”
Lachlan laughs. “I don’t blame you.”
Isla steps out of the kitchen and gestures at Lachlan. “Excuse me for a second,” he says. “I’m needed.”
He walks away and Alistair and I exchange glances. “Married, eh?” Alistair shakes his head. “Well, that’s nice. I’m so pleased for him.”
I relax a little. “You knew him well?”
“I’ve been friends with him since school, but I’ve been working in Dubai and only came back to England last month. I couldn’t believe it when I looked up and saw him at a wedding in Scotland.”
I edge close, my curiosity sparking. “I suppose he’s changed a lot.”
“Haven’t we all.” He shrugs. “He’s a great bloke. One of the best. Loyal to a fault and kind too, in a funny way of his own.” He chuckles. “He definitely hates to lose, though.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. He was notorious for it at school. He took competition very seriously. I remember him breaking a leg once when he fell off a roof. He was determined to win the bet.”
“What bet?”
“Who would be the first boy to tie their underpants to the school weathervane.”
I blink. “Well, I suppose it seemed important at the time, and Lachlan’s underpants have always been very special to me.”
He misses this statement, as he’s obviously taking a little trip down memory lane. “I wasn’t sporty at all, but Lachlan stuck up for me, and he was very popular. Everyone wanted him on their team, because he’d go hell for leather to win. Failure isn’t something that features in the Lachlan Moore handbook of life.”
I wonder idly how Lachlan felt about our marriage failing. That must have been a blow to a man who was used to winning at everything in life. The gong sounds interrupting my thoughts, and Lachlan emerges to announce that dinner is served.
The food is delicious, and I eat my way happily through two bowls of the meaty chilli and rice while we sit talking with other guests. Finally, I look up and find Lachlan watching me.
“What?” I say, regrettably through a mouthful of food.
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to have a conversation with you when I might get hit with low-flying chilli.”
I swallow. “No fear of that. I’m not wasting even a tiny bit of this.”
He looks pleased. “Is it okay?”
“It’s absolutely lovely.” I open my mouth. “Look, Mum, it’s empty now. Can I talk?”
He rolls his eyes. “Food is such a temporary solution to a problem that only a ball gag could solve.”
Ryan, who’s sitting nearby, laughs. “You two are so funny. Erica said you were.”
I hesitate wondering what to say to that, but a drum roll saves me, and we all turn and focus on the corner of the room. DABBA have obviously decided that they’d rather play music than sit with the group and have set up on the small dais.
“Evening, folks,” Darren says into the microphone. Everyone mumbles a version of hello, and he continues, undaunted. “We decided that we’d give you a little treat tonight.”
“Is it that they’ve given up on music altogether?” Lachlan says, and I snort and nudge him.
Darren continues speaking. “We’re going to be doing some songs Acapulco.”
I blink. “He’s going to Mexico?”
Lachlan bites his lips, his eyes brimming with laughter. “I think he means acapella.”
“Oh well, that sounds a bit more boring, to be honest.”
He shrugs. “Dare I hope that the songs might not be ABBA?”
“No, you dare not.”
Darren smiles and points at Erica and Ryan. “This is for the happy couple. It’s ‘Does Your Mother Know?’”
“I don’t think there’s much Frances doesn’t know,” I say, darting a glance at her. “She’s like the Sphinx.”
“Ancient and covered in sand?” Lachlan grins lazily at me. “I don’t think she knows everything anyway.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
He ignores my question and winces as Brian sings the song's opening line. “God, I thought it couldn’t get any worse, but Acapulco is obviously the way to prove me wrong.”
I put my head down to hide my laughter. “Shut up,” I hiss. The band start to harmonise or whatever you’d call that dreadful noise as Erica and Ryan get up and sway together, smiles on their faces. After a minute of torture, I frown. “I’ve always been drunk by the time this song plays, so I’ve never listened to the lyrics. It’s a bit creepy, isn’t it?”
Lachlan licks his lips. “The song hasn’t aged well. I’ll give you that.”
I shoot him a sly look. “Well, if we’re talking about mothers not knowing things, we should probably mention the long talks you’ve been having with my mum.”
He winces. “Ah, yes. Sorry.”
“Why on earth have you become the best of phone buddies?”
“Well, I only rang the first time to see if she knew where you were and then—” He pauses. He’s paying undue attention to scraping his fork through his chilli and avoiding my eyes.
“And?” I prompt.
He looks up, his eyes rueful. “Then she started talking about you, and I wanted to keep chatting.” His expression turns wicked. “I’ve learnt so much about you, Joe. All your teenage misdemeanours.”