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“It’ll be perfectly OK. There won’t be any other couples here,” Lilith stated.
Niamh laughed. “You goin’ all psychic again?”
“No, she just booked out the entire restaurant for us,” I said. “Nothing really changes. Bloody English, coming over here and keeping the starving native peasants away from the food.”
Niamh frowned. “I don’t get you.”
Lilith gave an impressively nonchalant little shrug. “It means we get the whole place to ourselves for the night. No interruptions, no staring at us, and Sol can sing as much of his freeform jazz as he likes without anyone complaining.”
“Je-sus,” Feargal said as he took in the size of the room. “You any idea how long the waiting list is for a table at this place?”
“Three months, according to the Maître d’,” Lilith said as we were shown to our seats. “So one more night isn’t going to make any difference to anyone as far as I’m concerned.”
*****
Even with my beginner’s palate I could acknowledge that the meal was amazing; highbrow enough to be impressive, but familiar enough not to intimidate those of us around the table who hadn’t been brought up with fillet of swan and ambrosia on-tap.
We started with lobster salad followed by seabass, Dublin Bay prawns and artichokes for the carnivores, and wild mushrooms and quinoa then a black truffle macaroni for Feargal, a committed vegan. Even Sol had been temporarily mesmerised into silence by a bread roll and a bowl of carrot puree, followed by a coconut and egg custard that he now appeared to be wearing.
Lilith could do a poker face better than anyone I’d ever met but even she couldn’t fully hide her excitement at what she’d arranged next, and I couldn’t really blame her. After months of managing wave after wave of assorted shit she was finally getting the chance to throw every ounce of her creativity at something purely pleasurable and she was having the time of her life. I’d never loved her more.
There had been piped classical music in the background all evening. Typically for The Rossmont, it had been tasteful and subtle, and just enough to soften the cavernous space of the dining room without drowning out our conversation. I suspected that Lilith had chosen the playlist as part of her organisational duties, because she didn’t once give her customary flinch of horror at an out-of-place or jarring piece.
Just as coffee was being served, the place fell silent, and Lilith glanced up as a young man in a tailcoat appeared at the edge of the dancefloor. “Ah. It must be time for the pianist to take over,” she said with impressive nonchalance.
“Oh, the poor beggar,” Niamh said. “Fancy him havin’ to play for just us. Not much of an audience for him, is it?”
As she spoke, the guy sat down and began to play the grand piano that was parked in the far corner of the room. From spending the last year and a bit living with the biggest music snob on the planet meant that I could actually identify the tune as something by Clara Schumann and I allowed myself a few seconds’ smugness.
Feargal gave a fellow-musician’s appreciative nod. “Hey, he’s not half bad,” he observed.
“Eh, he’s adequate I suppose,” I conceded and got Lilith’s thumb jabbed into my ribs in response. I grinned at her. “Ow. Probably a first year student from the uni making a few bob for Christmas, bless him. He’s definitely trying his best.”
Lilith glared at me. “If we could try really hard not to be a twat for five minutes Strachan, that would be rather marvellous...”
Before she could say anything else, the pianist segued cleanly into Almost an Angel and Niamh gave a squeal of delight. “Oh God that’s my favourite Gabriel James song!” She glanced over at Lilith and blushed crimson. “Ooh, but isn’t it about, er…?”
“Gabriel and Lilith’s first... meeting? Apparently it is, yes,” I shrugged. “Nice tune and all that, but I always thought the words were a bit of a mouthful.”
“Finn Strachan!” Niamh gasped. “Don’t be disgusting!” Now it was my sister’s turn to punch me in the arm and I grinned at her.
“Ach, it’s always such a blow when you’re disappointed in me.”
Just as I thought I was about to get clobbered again she did a double take. “Oh Sweet Baby Jesus it’s him! It’s actually him!”
Lilith
Once he’d finished his hit based on our brief encounter on a Boeing 737, Gabriel James finally looked up, smiled in our direction and played a final baroque flourish.
“Ah the flash wee fuck,” Finn muttered under his breath and I gave him another sharp poke, this time in his thigh. “Ow! I’m goin’ to be black and blue at the end of tonight between you and my sister!”
“What did I say earlier about playing nice?” I said under my breath, and he stuck his tongue out at me in reply.
Gabriel flashed us his finest hundred-watt rockstar grin and strode over to where we sat. Niamh gripped Feargal’s arm so tightly that he winced. “Oh fuck me Fearg he’s comin’ over to our table!” she gasped.
As he passed the neighbouring table to ours, Gabriel plucked a single white rose from the floral centrepiece. He then walked up to Niamh, bowed to her and presented her with the flower. “Happy birthday darlin’” he said, sounding every inch a Cockney barrow boy rather than the privately-educated vicar’s son from Dorset that he really was. I thought Niamh was about to faint with excitement and sheer delight as he delicately kissed the back of her hand.
“Ah, come on,” Finn shook his head in disgust and glared at Gabriel. “Is there any fuckin’ need?”
