I turned my head, so as not to look at Ratty and his wife, Gail. He was hugging her up as if they were in Junior High, and she had this sour look on her face I’m familiar with.
He was standing behind her, she being almost a head taller, behaving as if she was listening to the presentation, while he hugged her and whispered in her ear.
I suppose, if there were any strangers around, they’d be fooled by his behaviour. They’d think they were looking at a happily married couple.
Unless they saw Gail’s face.
Then, unless they were in dire need of glasses, drunk or naturally stupid they’d pick up that some thing was not as it seems. Of course, any man in his early fifties who is behaving as a teenager having his first girl is suspect to the astute eye.
But an astute eye wasn’t really needed.
Most people knew Ratty, knew about Ratty, and looked away with a semi-nauseous look on their faces.