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‘You are shitting me.’ Freddy jerks his head up.

‘No.’ Sylvia accepts a black coffee from the waiter. ‘I am not shitting you. It’s Kat’s birthday on Friday. She’s getting married as some kind of distorted birthday present. Kat and Chris will catch the 10 o’clock train to Edinburgh in the morning. They’ll marry at Gretna Green that afternoon, and then we’ll lose her forever.’

‘Kat deserves so much better.’ Freddy feels like crying. But he already knows what that sounds like, and he isn’t about to go there again.

‘Yes, she deserves better,’ says Sylvia. ‘But as far as Kat is concerned, this is the best she’s going to get. Married before the age of 35. Life goal achieved. Tick, tick, tick.’

‘So what can we do about it?’ Freddy asks.

Sylvia leans forwards. ‘I hear you’re a very good salesperson. Is there any way you can change her mind?’

CHAPTER71

On my 35th birthday, I stroll into the office wearing a new outfit: navy trouser suit, white shirt and a fabulous pair of red high heels. A carry-on bag trundles behind me holding a fabulous Stella McCartney white, halter-neck wedding dress and vintage, silver shoes. Plus woollens and jeans for the evening.

I take a seat at my large, corner office desk, open my laptop and take a deep breath.

I am getting married today. I’ve achieved yet another major life goal. Surely I should feel excited? Relieved? Something.

‘Kat?’ Duncan knocks tentatively on my office door. ‘Happy birthday.’

‘Thank you, Duncan,’ I say. ‘What do you have there? Doughnuts and Coca-Cola?’

‘Yes.’ Duncan places the bag of reduced-sticker doughnuts and can of Coke on my desk.

‘That’s a lot of sugar,’ I observe. ‘I thought you were cutting down?’

‘I am.’ Duncan pats his much flatter stomach. ‘I am living vicariously. This is your birthday present.’

‘Thank you, I –’

‘Knock, knock, boss lady!’ Gabriela strides into my office, dressed in a smart wool dress, chequered scarf and knee-high boots. Her high tog rating has been classed up considerably.

Alan follows, fashionable in his new red-framed glasses, his white-grey hair chopped and styled. He has completely ditched the leather these days, including his platform cherry-red Doc Martins.

I smile as champagne, chocolates and a birthday card are placed on my desk.

‘Thanks guys.’

The card shows a pair of ruby slippers and says: ‘A good pair of shoes can take you far.’

‘In the Wizard of Oz book, Dorothy’s magic shoes were silver, of course,’ I point out. ‘But no one remembers that now. Hollywood told a better story.’

I place the card next to the photo of my mother.

‘Okay, well.’ I snap my laptop closed. ‘The publishing schedule looks on track. I know you can handle things while I’m gone. Time to get married.’

I stand, grabbing my carry-on. Duncan, Gabriela and Alan block my path.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘We don’t think you should marry Chris.’ Duncan frowns under his flat cap.

‘You can do better.’ Gabriela crosses her arms.

‘Look, I know Chris isn’t perfect,’ I admit.

‘HE’S A TOSSER!’ Alan bellows.