One Winter Weekend

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

B en sat back in his chair, equally deflated.

Here they were, in Molly’s favourite city in the world, during her favourite time of the year to get married– and she seemed miserable.

Helen put a hand on his knee, breaking his reverie. “Don’t worry about her, love,” she said warmly. “She’s just nervous about … well, all of it I suppose.”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, I know.” He smiled at his future mother-in-law and stood to leave. “I’d better turn in, too. I’ve got a few things I need to take care of before bedtime. Hope you understand.” He shook hands with Paddy and kissed Helen on the cheek. “You two have a good night.”

Once Ben was gone, Paddy turned to his wife. “So… what do you make of the Pembreys?”

Helen rolled her eyes. “ He doesn’t say much,” she began, “which I suppose is a good thing. Whereas her … ”

Paddy nodded. “I know what you mean,” he agreed. “She comes off as a bit … stuck-up, doesn’t she?”

“Stuck-up, pretentious, condescending… So unlike Molly. Or Ben, for that matter.” She sipped her wine and sat back, gazing out at the glorious Roman skyline. “Paddy, honestly,” she said sadly, “what on God’s green earth are we doing here?”

“Supporting Molly,” he answered. “She is young, and she’s stupid, but she is wholly in love with that boy. And this city for whatever reason.” He looked at the plate of calamari again, eyeing the tentacles suspiciously, as if they might begin to twitch and move at any second, “Despite that, we owe it to our daughter to give our love and support.”

Just then, his phone buzzed, and he pulled it out to take a look.

“Well yes, of course,” Helen pressed on, “but a Christmas wedding in Rome? A tiny church? These little—” she picked up a piece of calamari , “— things , with their tentacles and round heads? Bit of a disaster really …”

“What’s that?” Paddy hadn’t heard a thing his wife had just said. An email he had just received said that something had gone wrong with a delivery back home. His eyes narrowed towards the phone again as he began typing furiously. “Sorry love, I really have to check in with the office.”

“Paddy,” Helen chided, “you’re in Rome. For your daughter’s wedding. For God’s sake, ditch the phone for the next forty eight hours at least.”

“It’ll just be a minute,” he insisted. “I promise. I’ll be right back.” He stood and walked off to talk on the phone.

Helen sat in silence, gazing out over the city skyline.

She sipped her wine quietly for a few minutes, thinking. Paddy had always worked hard, but lately he’d become obsessive. Her husband simply was a workaholic. She’d held out hopes that he could put the phone away while they were here, but the indication already was that he wouldn’t.

She waited nearly half an hour like that, watching the city lights from her perch on the terrazza.

When Paddy didn’t return, she finished the rest of her glass and gave up, sighing deeply.

Once again, the work that was supposed to be easier now that he wasn’t making the deliveries ended up being more difficult.

Helen called the lift and returned to her Roman hotel room alone.