I cough gently and say, ‘I’m—’
‘Lonely,’ he cuts across me.
Disconcerted, I stiffen and jut my chin forward, my confidence suddenly rattled. I worked so hard on my hair and make-up, getting the look just right. I used old photos to guide me. Although her hair was longer then than mine is now. But people change their hair all the time, don’t they? I look so much like her. But obviously not enough. It’s taken a single word from Andrew to remind me that I’m still me, and still inferior. I roll my shoulders back and push my self-pity aside. I’ve managed to pique Andrew’s attention enough to bring him to my table. Now, I just have to keep him here.
‘My name is Tina,’ I say, leaning forward and extending my hand across the table. He shakes it. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Andrew. Andrew Buckley,’ he replies. ‘The pleasure is all mine. Where are you from? Not local – I’m guessing.’
‘Kent,’ I lie.
‘Really?’ He sounds surprised and I hope I’m getting the accent right. My thick Belfast twang is a hard one to disguise even though I’ve been practising. ‘You’re the second person I’ve met tonight from that neck of the woods,’ he says.
An awkward silence falls over us. It’s unsurprising. Is it ever easy for two strangers to strike up conversation in a bar? I let it hang in the air for a moment, waiting to see if he will make the first move. When he doesn’t, I slowly lose patience.
I count backwards from three in my head, so I don’t seem too eager, and I say, ‘Thank you for the wine.’
‘You’re very welcome.’ He looks at the wine he’s bought that I haven’t yet touched and then at the glass I already have, which is at least a third full. ‘You’re not much of a drinker.’
Andrew seems compelled to tell people what they are not. Not a drinker. Not a local. Let’s hope he has no idea what I really am.
I giggle, acting shy or embarrassed while I try to decide what the best way to play this is. Should I admit I do drink? Regularly, actually. Spirits, mostly. A couple of neat doubles is usually sufficient to numb the mind. Wine, on the other hand, I rarely bother with. It’s bitter and I can’t bear the hangover the next morning. But I need Andrew to like me and a headache tomorrow is a small price to pay.
‘It’s been quite a couple of days,’ I say, settling on a response. ‘I’m still not quite right after the party last night. I drank much, much too much. It was embarrassing, really.’
‘You were here last night?’ He doesn’t believe me.
‘I was. Or at least I meant to be. But I met someone and well, we got a little carried away.’
‘Oh.’ His eyes widen as he catches on. I’ve shocked him. I hold my breath, not sure what way this will go. ‘I suppose you’re only young once. It was a bit different in my day,’ he says. ‘I knew my Margret a year before we . . . before . . .’
He’s talking about his wife and there’s such fondness in his voice. It’s almost believable that he actually loved her. Or loved her at one point, at least.
‘Well, I guess times are different now, eh?’ he sighs.
I don’t reply. I’ve nothing to say to something so obvious.
‘So where is the lucky fella now?’ he asks, looking around as if he would recognise him if he saw him.
His stupidity irks me. I know to blame the gin and I remind myself that I will be glad of his intoxicated state later. I reach for the glass of wine he bought me and ignore the plonk in the other glass. I raise it and smile. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ he echoes, crashing his gin glass against mine clumsily. ‘To the lovely couple.’ He slugs another mouthful of gin before banging the glass back down on the table.
I shake my head and tears gather in my eyes. I’ve no idea where they’ve come from. It must be the stress of everything. ‘He’s stood me up.’
‘Oh, he hasn’t?’
‘I was supposed to meet him in the bar. But I’ve been sitting here alone for hours and there’s no sign of him.’
‘He’s a damn fool.’ He takes another mouthful of gin.
‘No,’ I sigh, letting the tears fall. ‘The fool is me. I guess Luke Hogan just isn’t the man for me. If that was even his real name.’
Andrew sits straighter, suddenly the colour of barley water. He slips off the bow tie that I know has been bothering him all night and pops the top button on his shirt effortlessly, and I wonder if he’s really as drunk as I thought. His neck is as thick as his accent. It’s almost impossible to believe this farmer from West Wicklow has made enough money out of pigs and cows to become one of Ireland’s wealthiest businessmen.
‘Luke Hogan?’ he says, looking shocked.
‘You know him?’
‘I do.’ Andrew’s voice has deepened. ‘He slipped out of the party early last night – told me he was going home to his pregnant wife. And I believed him. It would seem he made a fool of me too.’
‘His wife?’ I say. ‘He’s married. Oh my God.’
Andrew exhales, and the stench of alcohol-soaked breath claws its way through the air. ‘How could you have known?’
Of course I knew. I know everything about Luke Hogan. I know how he likes his tea. How he’s grumpy in the mornings and how he stays up too late most nights. I know he hates coriander and loves being the centre of attention. I also know that he likes his wife to be perfect, a trophy to hang on his arm, and he can’t wait to be a father.
‘You’re not in the wholefood business, are you?’ Andrew says softly as he reaches across the table, and it takes me a second to realise he wants to take my hands in his. I let him. ‘You’re not here for the conference?’
‘Hiking,’ I say. ‘Fresh air and scenery. But it’s a lonely sport. That’s why I was so glad when I met Luke. He even said he’d come walking with me sometime. God, I’m such a fool.’
Andrew gazes at me with pity and I decide to elaborate. I have his attention. I might as well dig Luke a deeper hole.
‘I was exhausted after trekking fifteen miles yesterday afternoon. I bumped into Luke in the lobby. Literally. I was mortified, of course. He was done up all nice in a fancy tuxedo and there I was, red-faced and sweating.’
Andrew lets go of my hands, thankfully, and eases himself back further into the armchair to sip his gin casually. He’s relaxed. I can tell he’s a man who enjoys a good story. I continue.
‘I offered to buy Luke a drink by way of an apology. He suggested the bar but I felt horribly underdressed.’
‘So, it was your idea?’ Andrew says, tilting his head to one side, curious.
‘Yes.’ I swallow. ‘I guess it was. Or at least a drink was.’
The story is effortless to tell. Because it is true. Mostly true. Except the hill-walking part. I can think of countless ways to exercise and none of it involves nature or blisters. Luke didn’t remember me, unsurprisingly. More surprisingly he refused my offer of a drink, which pissed me off after all the effort I had put in. I was wearing khaki shorts with oversized pockets for God’s sake and my tanned, toned legs go on for miles. I’ve spent the last few years getting into peak physical shape. I told him I was lonely after walking for hours. How much more of a hint did he need? Either Luke Hogan doesn’t like getting laid. Or he really does love his wife. Either way I was an inconvenience, and when he told me he was married and on his way home, I had no more cards to play.