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.The cost of a night out in La Vie en Rose would be a month’s rent for this woman.‘Lovely,’ sighed the stylist.‘At least the whole wedding palaver doesn’t cost you when it’s your son.With a daughter, you need to have saved up, don’t you?’‘Yes,’ said Grace, managing a smile as she thought of Fiona.No saving required there.Grace didn’t want Fiona married off for the sake of it – she could live in a tree house and have a handfasting ceremony in a rowan grove if that was what she wanted – so long as she was happily settled with someone she loved.Stephen hit the motorway at least twenty minutes too late and immediately found himself snagged up in the Friday-evening rush hour.He’d driven down this road often enough to know he’d be late to the dinner, which would result in Grace glaring at him.In fairness, she didn’t glare that much; even during their divorce she’d kept the black looks to a minimum.Grace was one of those people who felt that people had a duty to be grown-ups and take responsibility for themselves – divorcing parents in particular.Almost nobody in his present circle of friends could believe that he and Grace had parted so well, discussed their children so agreeably, and remained friends.‘You’re saying this to make me jealous,’ one colleague had accused him.Louise was a senior copywriter who was in the throes of a separation that made the Trojan War look like a pillow fight.‘Exactly how do you manage to do it that way – unless you kill them and somehow get away with it?’Stephen had been about to say that a lot of it was down to Grace, who was fair-minded and honest to a fault, but he’d been beaten to it by one of the partners, who’d always had a bit of a tendre for Grace.‘Stephen’s ex-wife is one of the most incredible, decent’ – the partner sneaked a look at Stephen – ‘gorgeous women you’ll ever meet.She’s a class act.’‘What about Julia?’ demanded Louise, who knew only Stephen’s current partner.‘Julia’s fabulous,’ Stephen had said pointedly.‘Which proves that some bastards get lucky twice,’ the partner went on.Julia did a good line in glaring at Stephen.But she wasn’t going to be at the dinner tonight, so the only hard looks he’d get would be from his ex-wife.Grace would no doubt suspect that his lateness was due to a subconscious desire to annoy the hell out of Howard.In fact, there was probably some truth in that, Stephen acknowledged as the traffic inched slowly towards the Waterford exit.Howard had a control complex, an out-of-control control complex.At previous dinners over the years – and thankfully these had been few and far between – he had even tried to take charge of what everyone was eating.‘The beef’s fantastic here.You’ve got to try it, you’ve just got to,’ he’d announce.‘I’ll order it for all of us, shall I?’Stephen’s hands tightened around the steering wheel and he decided to turn off the news programme he was listening to and put on the classical music station.Grace would kill him if he lost his temper with Howard tonight, no matter how overbearing the old windbag was being.The strains of Schubert’s Trout Quintet filled the car and Stephen felt some of the stress of the day ebb away.His mood lifted even more when he reminded himself of the reason he was willing to endure Howard’s company.It wasn’t often he got to spend an evening with his beloved Fiona and Michael, and darling Katy, who was a wonderful girl.And, of course, Grace.He wished he could tell Grace that he had the strangest feeling that the wedding was creating friction between him and Julia.Nothing he could put into words, but it was there.Julia didn’t understand what it all meant to him.Despite her brilliance, she’d never understood how linked he was to Grace and their children, linked for ever, Stephen thought grimly.It was truly the most annoying thing about her.She seemed to think that, once he’d divorced Grace, he’d divorced himself from the life they’d had together.But when you had children and had known each other for more than thirty years, it was never going to be over.Not totally.You shared a history, family and things that couldn’t be put into words.Things that mattered.It was just as well she wasn’t here tonight.Just as well he’d somehow managed to imply that it would be boring and she’d hate it.Birdie stared into her wardrobe and wished she was one of those women who instinctively knew what to wear.Her mother had been like that: always in the right outfit no matter what the occasion.Of course, it was easier then.Day dresses or evening dresses or perhaps a little suit to a lunch.There wasn’t anything in between.Birdie had gardening clothes, some of which she picked up in Oxfam or the Vincent de Paul shop, although she’d never tell Howard that because he’d be apoplectic at the notion of his wife buying her clothes in a charity shop.She had white blouses, comfy sweaters and coloured jeans she got in Marks and Sparks for during the day, and good coats to wear over the M&S ensembles for Masses or funerals
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