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CHAPTER9

Freddy stands at the punch bowl, watching Kat circulate among the male guests. This has to be the worst wedding he’s ever attended. It’s certainly the cheapest. A good tagline would be, ‘If Discount Stores Made Weddings’. The food consists of tortilla chips, plain crisps and vegan sausage rolls. Yellow carbs on paper plates. There is a ‘make your own’ sandwich section with sliced white bread and some disgusting, bright-pink vegan ham.

As Freddy listens to fairies complain about the low-quality faux meats, Kat works the leaf-strewn dance floor. It’s like seeing a bad telemarketer at work. She is going up to men and handing out her business card.

There’s a marketing term for this: spray and pray.

Not surprisingly, Kat’s technique is working well with:

Men looking for one-night stands

Immature, broke men looking for mother figures

Serial womanisers

That guy right there? The one in the crumpled shirt, showing Kat his Batman cards? He is looking for someone to pay his bills and wash his clothes. And the man in the sharp suit? Major womaniser looking for a bit of extra sex on the side. He’ll string Kat along for a few months, but the moment she mentions marriage he’ll be off like a shot. Probably back to the woman he’s already living with.

Of course, Kat isn’t helping herself by dressing like a depressed secretary. She’s a vibrant, successful woman, but nothing about her clothing communicates these things. How she possibly thought that lumpy, woolly dress was a good idea, God only knows. And those shoes should be saved for foot complaints in later life. She’s in her thirties, not her sixties.

Freddy ladles brown punch into a plastic cup. The punch looks and smells like orange squash and cheap sherry, but he is liberal with the ladle because he needs to take the edge off. Watching the Kat car crash is not a pretty sight.

As the gentle strains of ‘Shiny Happy People’ play across the clearing, the womaniser guy puts his hand on Kat’s backside. He has a ring-shaped tan mark on his wedding finger.

Okay. Enough is enough. There’s only so much of a car crash you can watch before feeling compelled to pull victims from the wreckage. Freddy downs his punch and strides across the clearing.

‘Excuse me.’ He pushes his way between Kat and the womaniser. ‘Kat, you know this gentleman is married, right?’

‘We’re separated!’ The womaniser guy looks frightened.

‘Sure you are. Where’s your wedding ring? In your pocket? What’s your wife’s name?’

‘Linda,’ says the guy. Then he throws a mortified hand to his mouth. ‘I mean … we only live with each other for financial reasons. We don’t sleep together –’

‘Get lost.’

The man scurries away, while Freddy watches his retreating form in disgust.

‘What are you playing at?’ Kat puts hands on her hips.

‘Are your standards so low that you’re chasing around after married men?’

‘Absolutely not!’ Kat’s countenance turns dark. ‘How dare you? I would never go against the sisterhood. I didn’t know he was married.’

‘And what about general self-respect?’ Freddy asks. ‘He didn’t even get you a drink.’

‘It’s not the 1950s,’ says Kat. ‘I can get my own drink.’

‘This isn’t about women’s rights,’ says Freddy. ‘It’s about standards and exclusivity and … wait.’ He slaps his forehead. ‘Of course. You were with Chris for … how long were you together?’

‘Over fifteen years, off and on. But I have dated other people in that time.’

‘That explains it. You have no standards at all. I’ll give you some advice for free.’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘Because I respect you as a person. You started a semi-successful publishing company with terrible staff, no resources and a … well, this illness thing.’

‘Multiple sclerosis.’