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CHAPTER69

‘You’re marrying Chris?’ Sylvia’s shriek is loud enough to rattle china. And there’s a lot of china around because we are having afternoon tea at the Savoy.

Sylvia invites me to the Savoy just before Christmas every year to hash over my bad life choices. Actually, summoned would be a better word. Aunt Caro comes too, so she can rein Aunty Sylvia in. But she’s not doing enough reining today, in my opinion.

‘And you’re marrying over a Blacksmiths’ anvil in Gretna Green?’ Aunty Sylvia continues. ‘Oh goodgod. Why not jump naked over broomsticks and be done with it?’ She crosses herself as half the tea room turns to stare.

‘Sylvia, it’s not as bad as it sounds.’ I pour tea through a strainer into her bone china mug, watching the brown liquid with the same curious detachment I’ve felt since I got back to London. ‘Chris has changed. He’s managing the Apollo Theatre and buying a semi-detached house in St Albans. He wants to grow. To evolve. You always wanted me to get married –’

‘To aniceman,’ says Aunty Sylvia. ‘NotChris. He treated you so badly, darling.’

‘You always talk about how Jesus forgave Judas.’

‘Judas was not adivorced actor.’

‘We have to let her live her own life, Sylvia.’ Aunt Caro puts a thick covering of jam on her dry scone, then reaches for the cream.

‘Not so much cream.’ Aunty Sylvia wrestles Aunt Caro for the spoon. ‘Think of the cholesterol.’ She turns to me. ‘It sounds like you’re depressed, Katerina. That’s why you’re making these terrible decisions. Would you like some of my prescription tablets? They always perk me up when I’m feeling low.’

‘I’m notthatdepressed.’

Aunty Sylvia and Aunt Caro look at each other.

‘You probably should aim higher, love.’ Aunt Caro reaches for the cream again, but Aunty Sylvia bats her hand away.

‘I did aim higher,’ I say. ‘I aimed for true love. The fairy-tale. But it was an illusion, and in the process of chasing rainbows, I lost a very decent, dedicated fiancé. And now I’ve come crashing back down to earth as a 34-year-old woman with MS. My choices are limited. Chronic pain is an occasional fact of life. And Chris is a practical, low-risk purchase. Like buying a new toothbrush. Not exciting, but necessary. We’ll rub along okay together, and he is trying.’

‘Don’t you at least want aproperwedding with a cake?’ asks Sylvia. ‘If youmustmarry Chris, make him buy the cow, darling. Don’t let him off with this cheap Gretna Green stunt. Two train tickets and a hotel room? You deserve so much more.’

‘It’s more than he paid for his last wedding,’ I say. ‘And I don’t see the point of spending thousands. Why start our married life in financial deficit?’

‘You make marriage sound like a business transaction,’ says Sylvia.

‘Relationships are transactional.’ I add more cream to my scone. ‘Freddy taught me that. You and Caro both offer each other a balanced exchange of wants and needs. And as long as that exchange works, you’ll be happy.’

‘Oh darling, that’s not true.’ Sylvia gives me sad eyes. ‘I’m with Caro for better or for worse. If she gave me nothing at all, I’d still love and take care of her. Don’t you want to have love like that?’

‘You two are lucky,’ I say. ‘But my life isn’t a romance novel. And even if it were, romance heroines don’t have MS.’

‘You’re being sonegative.’ Aunty Sylvia pours me more tea. ‘And you can do better than Chris. Okay, so maybe Ahmet wasn’t the one for you. But what about Freddy?’

I pause, mid-cream spooning. ‘What about him?’

‘You too seemed so close not long ago.’ Sylvia gives me a hopeful smile. ‘Such good friends. And he’s handsome. Single. Upwardly mobile. Aunt Caro and I thought … you know. Maybe the two of you …’

‘Freddy is a terrible human being. We are no longer on speaking terms.’

‘A terrible human being who turned your company around and helped you win European Publisher of the Year?’ says Aunty Sylvia.

I spoon more cream onto my scone. ‘Hitler was fond of animals.’

There’s a big debate among boring people about whether you put the cream on a scone first, followed by jam, or vice versa. The answer is: it doesn’t matter. The quantity of jam and cream is the important thing. Today more than ever. I need to eat my feelings.

‘Look, Chris isn’t perfect,’ I admit. ‘But neither am I. This is a low-risk relationship for mutual gain.’

‘You’re not going to say that in your wedding vows, are you?’ Aunty Sylvia queries.

‘We’re not saying vows.’ I load a spoon with jam. ‘It’s too sappy. We’re just saying I do at the right moments, then catching the train home again. Marriage is a legal commitment when all is said and done. There’s no need to over-sugar it.’