Wedding Night

“It’s not about private jets. Or height. There’s no point comparing yourself to him.”
    Richard looks at me for a few silent seconds. Then, as though I hadn’t even spoken, he says, “Have you seen his house? They used it for
Highton Hall
. He’s a multimillionaire
and
he’s got a stately home.” He scowls. “Bastard.”
    “Richard—”
    “But he’s pretty puny, don’t you think?” He’s tearing the airsick bag into strips. “Never thought Lottie would go for someone so puny.”
    “Richard, stop it!” I exclaim in exasperation. If he’s going to go on like this the whole journey, I’ll go mad.
    “Is this our special guest?” A sugary voice interrupts us, and we look up to see an air hostess with a French plait, bearing down on us with a wide smile. She’s holding a teddy bear, an airline wallet, some lollipops, and a huge box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates. “Cheryl told us
all
about you,” she addresses Noah brightly. “I’ve got some special gifts for you here.”
    “Cool! Thank you!” Noah grabs the presents before I can stop him and gasps, “Mummy, look! A
big
box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates! You
can
get them!”
    “Thanks,” I say awkwardly. “That’s really unnecessary.”
    “It’s the least we can do!” the air hostess assures me. “And is this the famous uncle?” She bats her eyelashes at Richard, who stares back with a blank frown.
    “My uncle can speak three languages,” says Noah proudly. “Uncle Richard, talk Japanese!”
    “A surgeon
and
a linguist?” The air hostess opens her eyes wide, and I dig my fingers into Richard’s hand before he can protest. I don’t want Noah mortified in public.
    “That’s right!” I say quickly. “He’s a very talented man. Thanks so much.” I smile at the air hostess fixedly till she leaves, after a final pat on the head for Noah.
    “Fliss, what the hell’s going on?” expostulates Richard in an undertone as soon as she’s walked away.
    “Can I have a credit card to put in my wallet?” asks Noah, examining it. “Can I have an AmEx? Can I have points?”
    Oh God. He knows about AmEx points at the age of seven? This is mortifying. Almost as bad as when we checked in to a hotel in Rome and, by the time I’d found change for a tip, Noah had already asked to see a different room.
    I get out my iPod and hand it to Noah, who whoops withdelight and slots the earphones into his ears. Then I lean toward Richard and lower my voice.
    “Noah told some made-up story to the ground staff.” I bite my lip, feeling a sudden relief at sharing my worries. “Richard, he’s turned into a complete fantasist. He does it at school. He told one teacher he’d had a heart transplant and another he had a surrogate baby sister.”
    “What?”
Richard’s face drops.
    “I know.”
    “Where did he get those kind of ideas, anyway? A surrogate baby sister, for God’s sake?”
    “Off a DVD they were playing in the special-needs department,” I say wryly.
    “Right.” Richard digests this. “So what story did he tell this lot?” He gestures at the air hostess.
    “No idea. Apart from the fact that you play a starring role as a surgeon.” I meet his eye and we suddenly both snort with laughter.
    “It’s not funny.” Richard shakes his head, biting his lip.
    “It’s awful.”
    “Poor little guy.” Richard ruffles Noah’s head, and he looks up briefly from his iPod trance, a beatific smile on his face. “Do they think he’s doing it because of the divorce?”
    My residual laughter melts away. “Probably,” I say lightly. “Or, you know, the evil career mother.”
    Richard winces. “Sorry.” He pauses. “How’s that all going, anyway? Have you signed the settlement yet?”
    I open my mouth to answer honestly—then stop myself. I’ve bored Richard many times over dinner about Daniel. I can see he’s bracing himself for the rant. Why did I never notice people bracing themselves before?
    “Oh, fine.” I give him my new saccharine smile. “All good! Let’s not talk about it.”
    “Right.” Richard looks taken aback. “Great! So … any new men on the horizon?” His voice suddenly seems to have doubled in volume, and I flinch. Before I can stop myself, I glance at Lorcan, who is sitting by the opposite window, engrossed in his laptop, and thankfully didn’t seem to hear.
    “No,” I say. “Nothing. No one.”
    I’m telling myself furiously not to look at Lorcan, not to even think about Lorcan. But it’s