Before Dawn: a Prequel Novella to Where the Stars Fall

8 Hope ~ Brian

What a bummer, two minutes too late and they're all gone!

Well, all except Robert, Jimmy's cousin.

The groom's guests were supposed to gather here before the ceremony, at the Burke's home, for a brief cocktail reception and photos. Turns out I only managed to drag myself out of bed some forty minutes ago―to a bursting headache and a massive fog of red wine and anger.

Robert isn't looking any better. With head tilted back as if soaking up the sun, he's sitting on the garden bench, tie loosened and jacket off, a packet of fags in one hand, a glass of Scotch in the other. In the background, the catering team, back and forth clearing tables and cleaning up the back garden.

"If you hurry, you might still be able to catch up with them," he says, raising his glass without changing his sullen demeanour, his voice slightly slurred.

"Morning. Need a ride to the church?"

"Oh, thank you. That'd be really kind of you." He doesn't move a single inch, though.

"Then come."

"I'm almost done here." He takes a slow swig and jerks his head toward a half-empty bottle standing on the nearby table, which he holds only to pour himself a three-fingers width. "Come and join me."

Jesus, my dark mood and morning-after hangover can't deal with this kind of shit right now! I take his glass and set it on the table. "I'd love to, but we need to go. The wedding starts in less than one hour."

"Whatever! Those never start on time anyway." He waves a dismissive hand before he tries to reach for his glass again, which I immediately slide further away.

"Rob, what is this you're doing? Getting pissed on Jimmy's wedding day? Have you bloody well lost your mind?"

He relaxes his stance and lets out a short, rough laugh. "Son, two things a man cannot hide, can he? That he's drunk, and that he's in love."

"Right, you're a real poet. Come, let's go inside and get you a coffee." I pull him by his elbow and try to make him stand, but he shrugs me off.

"Give me my glass back, I've got a hangover the size of an elephant's arse."

"I've got one too, and this shit you're pulling isn't helping," I snarl. "Where's Betty?"

"Son." He grabs my hand and looks intently into my eyes, shaking his head in strong disapproval, his tongue clicking. "Coffee, raw eggs, whatever-crap-they-say-it-helps? None of that works! And aspirin? Steer clear from that shit, it'll burst your liver!" He stands at last. "Drinking the bloody bastard off, that's what helps! Who the fuck is Betty?"

"Please, stop talking rubbish. Where's your wife?"

"Don't have one. Who's that?"

"I don't know―the woman sitting next to you last night? The mother of your three kids? Who's been putting up with you for... thirty years?"

"Oh, that one! I remember her."

"Brilliant..." I pinch the bridge of my nose, my patience wearing thinner by the minute. "Maybe it's indeed better if you stay here–"

"She told me to pack my bags and clear off, can you believe it? Last night. A divorce, she wants, the bloody old nag!" he blurts out, just when I'm about to turn and leave.

Oh, sod. I stare at him for a moment, pondering my reaction. What in the world are you supposed to tell a man who's just been dumped?

"You seem surprised," he breaks the silence.