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I redden. ‘Well, if you must know, it’s true what Aunty Sylvia was saying earlier. About me having a degenerative disease. I have a touch of MS. And stop calling me darling.’

‘A what?’

‘A touch of MS. Multiple sclerosis. Just a little brush of it. Nothing to worry about. Sometimes it makes my legs unsteady.’

‘Can you get atouchof MS?’ Freddy asks. ‘I thought it was a pretty serious condition?’

‘Every person’s MS is as different as a snowflake,’ I say. ‘Mine is relapsing, remitting. It comes and goes. It’s worse when I’m stressed. Or overwhelmed. Or tired.’

‘I bet you’re all of those things today,’ says Freddy. ‘Do you want me to find you somewhere to sit? I can move a log –’

‘As much as I’d love to see you showing off how strong you are,’ I say, ‘I’m okay. I just need to stand where no one can see me and eat some yellow food from the buffet.’

‘You know Chris is an idiot, right?’

‘Yes.’ I sigh. ‘I know. But he’s also funny and exciting and romantic and –.’

‘And you still love him.’

‘For a megalomaniac, you’re surprisingly perceptive.’

‘You and I aren’t so different, Kat. Tough on the outside, soft in the middle.’

‘I’m nothing like you. And for what it’s worth, I know that me and Chris are over. I have told my brain, in no uncertain terms, to move on. I just wish my heart would catch up.’

‘How did you end up with that man, anyway?’

‘Chris was my first love. We’ve been together, on and off, since I was eighteen. We got together just after my mother died.’

‘Ah.’ Freddy clicks his fingers. ‘That makes sense. He got in while you were vulnerable. Sorry, darling. Bad luck.’

‘You don’t need to be sorry.’ I don’t have the energy to rebuke Freddy for saying ‘darling’ again. He clearly has a compulsion. Like tourettes. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get on with something.’

‘Get on with what?’

‘The final piece of closure. I need to offer the happy couple my congratulations.’

CHAPTER7

As I approach the top table, Chris reclines easily on his plastic chair like a medieval lord. He wears a crown of some kind of woodland menagerie and a leather-thong wood-slice pendant around his neck.

‘Hey, Kat.’ Chris gives me an easy smile, showing one crooked front tooth. ‘Sorry I gave you a hard time. Those life goals of yours … two out of three ain’t bad, right?’

I take a deep breath. ‘Congratulations. Chris. Minola. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.’

‘Katerina.’ Minola gives me a compassionate smile, downward-turned, pale eyes layered with pity. ‘Thank you for coming. I was worried you might … well. Never mind. Listen. If you ever want to talk about your alcohol issues, I can give you a free first session.’ She pulls a card from a pearl purse that says: ‘Magical Life Coaching with Minola’ and features an illustration of Minola with wings and a wand.

‘You’re a life coach?’ I ask. ‘Aged twenty-one?’

‘Age is just a number.’

‘Was that one of Chris’s chat-up lines?’

Minola’s face hardens. ‘Look, sometimes, happiness comes from letting go. Right?’

‘What do I need to let go? I might still get married.’

‘Oh Katerina …’ Minola gives me sympathetic eyes. ‘Getting married by December would be difficult for a normal person, let alone …’ She gestures to my legs. ‘You know. Someone with a disability and alcohol issues.’