Spin the Bottle

by Monica McInerney

  She could feel the strength of his body, feel the muscles in his back as she ran her hands down his shirt, the cotton cool, his skin hot beneath it. There was no mistaking how aroused he was. She could feel the hardness pressing against her and all she wanted to do was press hard against him, to feel the sensation without clothes, just hot skin against hot skin…

  ‘Lainey, hello.’

  She nearly spat out her tea. ‘Rohan. Hi.’

  He was standing beside her, a car magazine in one hand. ‘So, all set for the big night tomorrow?’

  ‘Just about.’ Was she blushing? Was it obvious that she had just been imagining him standing in the middle of the shopping centre with an erection?

  ‘Are you okay? You look a little… ?’

  The words embarrassed and aroused came to Lainey’s mind.

  ‘Hot,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, just a touch of the flu, I think. Or the heating in here.’

  ‘Well, I hope you feel better soon.’

  ‘Are you still coming to my launch party tomorrow night?’ Her voice sounded a little strangled.

  ‘Oh, of course. Actually, I was going to call you about the party.’

  She waited, her heart beating faster.

  ‘Sabine is over from Munich at the moment. You don’t mind if she comes too, do you?’

  ‘Oh no, not at all,’ she said in a voice higher than normal. ‘And please, bring your mother and your niece if you want to as well.’ And any livestock you have, she thought. They’re all welcome. The more the merrier. Surround yourself with living organisms, could you?

  ‘Really? Thanks, I’m sure they’d love to come. See you then.’

  ‘Yes, see you all then. And Sabine, too, of course.’

  There was a parcel waiting on the doorstep when she arrived home. Another tape from Hugh. She cheered up, again delaying the moment of watching it, making herself a coffee, getting herself settled just so. Once she was organised, she put it into the video recorder and pressed play.

  Within seconds she was laughing out loud. To a soundtrack of snippets from ‘What’s New, Pussycat’ by Tom Jones, ‘Love Cats’ by the Cure and ‘Kool 4 Cats’ by Squeeze, Hugh had filmed lots of footage of her cat Rex. There was Rex lounging around her parents’ house, lying fully stretched in the sun, his tail batting, playing with balls of paper, jumping up to catch at toys on the ends of pieces of string. There was even Rex dressed up in a ridiculous bow, with a fake moustache and a party hat. The final frame was Rex waving, a male hand obviously in shot making it happen, a speech bubble coming out of his little cat mouth – ‘Hurry home. They’re tormenting me here!’

  She watched it again, laughing just as much the second time. Then she played it frame by frame, puzzled about something. If Hugh was behind the camera, who was making Rex do all those things? Not her father, and her mother didn’t really like touching him. She found her answer in one of the outside shots. There, reflected in the French doors leading out into the garden, was a tall, lanky man in a sombrero. She recognised the hat at the same time she recognised the body. It was Adam.

  She played it through again. It was Adam’s hand flicking a bit of paper on a piece of string and making Rex wave his paw. It was Adam’s hand holding the party hat on Rex’s head. Adam holding Rex in such a way that he appeared to be reading a book. She freeze-framed to see the book’s title. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck.

  She’d seen the book in his bookcase at home. They’d both studied it at school, discussed it over dinner one night. She guessed then the Rex tape had been as much his idea as Hugh’s. As Lainey stopped the tape she realised she was laughing and crying at the same time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  IT WAS LIKE SOME weird dream, Lainey decided as she looked around the house. There were about forty people in the two main rooms. Others were moving up and down the staircase, having a look at the rooms, leafing through the information kits packed with her plans for the theme weekends. She’d invited all the people she thought might be interested or might be able to recommend the guesthouse to friends or colleagues. She was pleased to see Mr Fogarty and his wife, who to Lainey’s disappointment was not in the least bit mouse-like – more moose-like if anything. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned. A man a few inches shorter than her, stocky in build, was smiling at her.

  ‘Elaine, is it? It must be you. I saw you from across the room and knew you immediately.’

  He was sixty at least, she guessed, with an affected English accent. Hair a little too long, clothes a little too flamboyant. ‘Yes, I’m Lainey,’ she said cautiously. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met…’

  He held out a hand, with a theatrical bow. ‘My name is Leo Ramsay. You probably don’t remember me, but I used to live here in Meath many years ago myself. I knew your mother very well. Tell me, how is she keeping?’

  ‘She’s grand, just grand,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Ramsay. I’m afraid I don’t remember you at all.’

  He nodded as if, yes, he thought that would probably have been the case. ‘You were very young. I moved back to England just before you moved to Australia, in fact. What is it now, seventeen years ago next spring? Is that right?’

  ‘You’ve a good memory.’

  ‘For the things that matter, yes, Lainey, I do.’ He was staring at her, appraising her, far more intently than felt comfortable. ‘You’re very like your mother physically, aren’t you? That same striking face, the same tall, lean body.’

  What was he, a doctor? A creepy doctor, at that. Just then Eva came up beside her. ‘Lainey, I’m sorry, we need you out in the kitchen…’

  Lainey was glad of the interruption. Was he with one of the tourism groups? she wondered, a fake smile on her face. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Ramsay. Please enjoy the party.’

  ‘I will, Lainey, I will. And remember me to your mother, will you? Please tell her I still think of her.’

  The mini crisis in the kitchen dealt with – a lack of serving trays – Lainey returned to the room, looking around with pleasure.

  ‘Congratulations, Lainey.’

  She looked down with a smile. ‘So what do you think of it, Mr Fogarty?’

  ‘It looks marvellous. I’m sure you’ll have the guests flocking in for your program.’

  ‘And my wonderful dinners, too, I hope.’

  ‘Yes, I read the sample menus in the information package. You’re certainly exploring all the modern aspects of Irish cuisine. I hadn’t realised you were a talented chef as well.’

  ‘Me?’ Lainey laughed at the idea. ‘I have to confess, Mr Fogarty, I can’t cook to save my life. I’m bringing in an expert, my friend Eva’s cousin Meg, who’s the real thing, thank God.’

  She felt a touch on her hand. It was Eva again. ‘Excuse me, Mr Fogarty,’ Lainey smiled and moved away.

  Eva whispered. ‘We’re whipping through the wine. Just wondered, do you want to open some more bottles?’

  Lainey glanced around, doing a quick headcount. ‘Yes, try another six – three red, three white. And it’s time for some more food, I think, too. I’ll give you a hand with the trays.’

  ‘Is he here yet?’ Eva hissed.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know who. Rohan. I’m dying to see him.’

  Lainey pulled a face. ‘Stop it, you.’ In fact, she’d noticed that Rohan had just arrived. He was in a corner of the living room talking to four women, including Mrs Hartigan and Nell. Lainey glanced over, wondering which of the other two women was Sabine. One was dark-haired, pixie-faced, the other mid-height, groomed, smiley. He seemed to be paying them both equal attention.

  ‘That’s him over there, isn’t it?’ Eva whispered. ‘I recognise that curly hair of his. He’s still lovely looking, isn’t he? Come on now, Lainey. Over there and charm, charm, charm.’

  ‘Shhh, he’ll hear you.’

  ‘Which one’s the girlfriend? Not the teenager, I hope? Or that older lady?’

  ‘No, that’s his mother you eejit.
Remember her? And the other’s the niece. It’s one of the other two.’

  ‘Oh look, he’s looking over at you. Quick, smile back at him.’

  ‘Eva, he’s looking over here because you and I are standing here whispering behind our hands like schoolgirls.’

  ‘No, Lainey. It’s because he’s fatally attracted to you. I can feel it in my bones.’

  ‘That’s early onset of osteoporosis, you mad woman.’ But Eva had moved away. Too late, though. The damage had been done. Another mind-film started playing in Lainey’s head.

  The loaded glances had been passing between them all night. She knew it was just a matter of waiting. Her patience paid off as she heard a soft voice behind her. It was Rohan. ‘Lainey, I need to be alone with you. Now.’

  ‘Lainey, can I introduce you to my girlfriend? Sorry, my special friend, Sabine?’

  Lainey spun around, her smile more maniacal than friendly. Sabine was the dark-haired one. Lainey thrust out her hand. ‘Guten abend, wieviel kosten diese Briefmarken?’

  Sabine smiled, puzzled. ‘I’m sorry?’

  Oh, bloody hell, she’d just asked Sabine how much do these stamps cost, Lainey realised. She gave a giddy laugh and tried again. ‘I’m sorry, Sabine. I meant to say you are very welcome. Sie sind herzlich willkommen.’ Much better, Lainey. Now try and behave like a normal human being, would you?

  Rohan’s arm was around the German woman. ‘It all looks great, Lainey. Congratulations.’

  ‘And your program is terrific too,’ Sabine added, with a nod towards the information kit in her hand. ‘I just wish I could come to some of them.’

  Sabine’s English was perfect, of course, the hint of an accent making it very attractive. ‘You’d be more than welcome.’ Lainey drank the rest of her champagne in one swallow and gave a big fake smile, feeling like she was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. ‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you, and please, make yourself at home. Excuse me, won’t you?’

  The rest of the night swept past in a blur of conversations, questions and two minor accidents with glasses. Lainey relaxed her guard, having a second glass of champagne – one more than she usually allowed herself at launches such as this. Then another glass. And then another – they seemed to be growing miraculously out of the palm of her hand. They were keeping the Rohan mind-films at bay quite nicely, too.

  As it passed midnight, most of the guests started leaving, amid lots of congratulations, lots of good wishes. The music got louder, the talk and laughter more boisterous, as the younger ones stayed on. It wasn’t until after one, about the same time that she remembered that she hadn’t eaten, that Lainey realised she was spectacularly drunk.

  She came into the kitchen after eleven the next morning, eyes half closed, hair in short black tufts, arms outstretched like a sleepwalking mummy. ‘I am evil. I am the evil slave-creature of the drink and I must be destroyed. My mind has been sucked out by a straw during the night, the zombies have taken over and left me with nothing, no memory at all.’ She opened one eye, expecting to hear her eyelid creak from the weight of the dried and smudged mascara. Rare white panda also spotted in Ireland.

  ‘No memory at all? That’s good,’ Eva said cheerily, looking up from the newspapers spread on the table around her.

  ‘For the best probably,’ Joseph added, just as cheerily.

  Lainey slumped into a chair. ‘Oh no, tell me. What did I do?’

  ‘Nothing to be ashamed of, Lainey, really,’ Eva said. ‘You were great, actually. I had no idea you liked dancing on the table like that.’

  ‘And the way you lifted Mr Fogarty up over your head and spun him around. It was brilliant, really,’ Joseph added. ‘Like that scene with Fay Wray in King Kong, didn’t you think, Evie?’

  Lainey laid her head on the table and howled. ‘Don’t. I can’t bear it.’

  Eva relented, smiling. ‘Lainey, relax. You weren’t that bad. You got a bit drunk, started slurring a little and we had to put you to bed, but that was it. And it was only right at the end. Nearly everyone had gone.’

  ‘Who was still here?’ she looked out blearily through one panda eye. Please don’t say it. Please don’t say his name.

  ‘Only Rohan Hartigan. His girlfriend was here for a while, but then she left early, and he caught a taxi home.’

  So just Rohan was here. Splendid. An audience of one for her misbehaviour. ‘What did we talk about?’ Please don’t tell me I started undressing him in the middle of the living room, please, please, please…

  ‘It was good gas, actually. We talked about school. He talked about why he decided to start studying history, about going to Germany first, coming back here for this Tara project. You hadn’t mentioned he’d done all of those oral histories, Lainey. It’s fascinating, isn’t it?’

  Lainey made an odd, noncommittal noise, aching head still in her hands. No, Eva, I didn’t mention those, because I’ve been far too busy mentally undressing him to worry about silly little niceties like actually getting to know him. But now at least they’d met Sabine, seen his girlfriend in the flesh. That would surely put a stop to any of Eva’s fantasies, not to mention her own.

  Eva poured her a coffee and handed it over with a sympathetic smile. ‘If you ask me, there’s a few problems between him and his German girlfriend. I overheard them having a bit of a spat outside. You really might be in with a chance, Lainey.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He is quite sexy, isn’t he?’

  Lainey just shut her eyes and groaned again.

  She’d finished a plate of bacon and eggs and was stroking Rod Stewart, wishing he’d keep his purring down to a soft roar, when the phone rang. The bell sounded like Big Ben to her fragile ears. Eva answered it.

  ‘Meggie!’ she said in delight at the sound of her cousin’s voice. ‘How are you? Oh no, are you serious? I didn’t even know you liked horseriding.’ Eva laughed. ‘No, I guess you don’t any more. You poor thing. No, of course you can’t. How could you manage it? Hold on, she’s right here.’ She passed the phone to Lainey. ‘It’s Meg.’

  Lainey hadn’t liked the sound of anything Eva had just said to her cousin. She liked even less what Meg had to say to her. She had taken a fall while horseriding the day before and sprained her ankle and broken her left arm in two places. She was going to be in plaster for at least six weeks. ‘Oh, Meg, you poor thing. No, of course it’s not the end of the world. I’ll find another chef. Well, sure, it is short notice, but really, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s still a few weeks off. No, just rest up and take care and we’ll see you soon. No, not at all, Meg. Don’t worry about it for a moment.’

  Lainey hung up and looked blearily at her friends. ‘You’d better cover your ears. I’m about to do a lot of swearing.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  FOR THREE DAYS AFTER the party, Lainey lay low, Rod Stewart her only company. He made a half-hearted attempt to prove his hunting credentials, loudly meowing outside the front door one morning. She opened it to find him proudly displaying a dead bird and three bacon rinds.

  She glared at him. ‘I fed you the bacon, you big eejit. You didn’t catch it. And you’re supposed to be catching mice, not birds.’

  She picked up the stiff little feathered body and took it down to the back of the garden. As she walked back up to the house she passed the chicken run. It was all right for them, clucking away happily in there. They were certainly never told that they were going to have to learn in record time how to cook gourmet meals for eight people. Eva had offered to take Meg’s place until Joseph reminded her she had singing gigs with her band in Dublin over those weekends. They’d rung several people Eva knew, without success. Either it was too short notice or they were otherwise booked. They’d rung Mrs Gillespie down the road, but she’d said no as well. She was a good baker, but not a gourmet chef, she’d explained. Lainey had finally accepted that she would have to do it herself. ‘I can give you lessons, Lainey,’ Eva had said. ‘You’ll pick it up really quickly, you wait and see.’ They’d both
suspected she was lying.

  She was dragged back into the human race the next morning by a phone call from home. She filled her father in on recent weather patterns and was brought up to date by her mother on the latest instant food products. ‘And everything’s fine there, Lainey, I suppose? I bet the local tourist industry don’t know quite what’s hit it, you arriving like that.’

  I don’t know quite what’s hit me, more to the point. ‘Oh, I think they’re coping.’

  ‘I’ve been telling everybody here about that great idea of yours to run those theme weekends. Perhaps I could run one here, with all these new dishes I’ve been demonstrating. Mind you, mine are supposed to be time-savers, not quite the thing for a weekend away. Perhaps I could call mine Gourmet Quick Lunches.’ Lainey was trying to keep up when her mother changed the subject. ‘Here’s Hugh to talk to. Hugh, come and say hello to your sister in Ireland.’

  ‘Hello, sister in Ireland.’

  ‘Hello, my little pet. Anything I need to know about? Been busted yet? Kicked out of college? Caught running a counterfeit money ring?’

  ‘No, all calm on the Melbourne front. What about you, Lain? You all set for those weekends Ma keeps stopping strangers in the street to talk about?’

  She hadn’t meant to tell him, but somehow the whole story about her having to do the cooking came spilling out. After he’d stopped laughing he tried to console her. ‘You’re not that bad a cook, are you? You could serve something up to them?’

  ‘Hughie, even Rex won’t eat my leftovers. I can scratch up a few pasta dishes and the odd stir-fry, of course I can, but that’s home-in-front-of-the-TV food, not we’ve-paid-a-fortune-to-eat-flash-meals-in-this-guesthouse-for-the-weekend food.’

  ‘So what are you going to do? Give up?’

  She bridled. ‘Of course I’m not. Eva’s offered to come down and teach me, give me a crash course, which is a start. Beyond that, God knows. I’m just going to have to practise and practise until I get it sorted out.’ She’d already looked up every How to Cook website on the Internet and watched every TV cooking show she could. Apparently if she grew her hair long and rode around on a scooter everything would be just fine.