Was it you?

It wasn't the husband or the daughter, the wife or the other daughter, her boyfriend or the son. It must have been me but it wasn't. I had the tagliatelle (I think is how to spell it) and most of the wife's salad. She ordered a couple of bottles of wine. The son and daughters drank four beer. Out on the street, rings of viewers ate the noise of the bagpipe-African drum combo. I'd whispered to the waitress my plans for payment of the bill, which would include paying it. She understood. But around the time the plates were cleared away she informed me that the bill was taken care of, and by someone not at our table. We all looked around and guessed.