A Spot Of Bother

105

Halfway through their meal Ray started glancing at his watch.

Katie pointed out that a gentleman shouldn’t really do this during a candlelit dinner with his fiancée. Ray was apologetic, but not quite apologetic enough. He clearly thought it was funny, which it wasn’t, and Katie was torn between getting genuinely angry and not wanting to have a public row the night before their wedding.

A few minutes before nine o’clock, however, Ray leaned across the table and took hold of both her hands and said, “I bought you a present.”

And Katie said, “Uh-huh,” being a bit noncommittal because of the time-checking, but also because Ray was not brilliant at presents.

Ray didn’t say anything.

“So…?” asked Katie.

Ray held up his finger, meaning Wait, or Be quiet. And this was odd, too.

“OK,” said Katie.

Ray looked toward the window, so Katie looked toward the window, and Ray said, “Five, four, three, two, one,” and absolutely nothing happened for a few seconds, and Ray said, “Shit,” quietly and then fireworks erupted from the field next to the restaurant, fizzy white snakes, purple sea urchins, yellow starbursts, weeping willows of incandescent green light. And those whumps like someone hitting cardboard boxes with a golf club that took her straight back to bonfires and baked potatoes in silver foil and the smell of sparkler smoke.

Everyone in the restaurant was watching, and each explosion was followed by a little ooh or aah from somewhere in the room, and Katie said, “So this is…”

“Yup.”

“Jesus, Ray, this is amazing.”

“You’re welcome,” said Ray, who wasn’t watching the fireworks at all, but watching her face watching the fireworks. “It was either this or Chanel No. 5. I thought you’d prefer this.”