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Her eyes flick downward. ‘Amazing jumpsuit, too.’

My smile is more genuine now and I run my hands over the smooth sequins. ‘It is amazing, isn’t it?’

Eva nods. She looks incredible too, with her glossy black hair and perfectly made-up face, a diamond pendant glistening at her throat. She lowers her gaze. ‘I, um … wanted to apologise to you.’

My brows shoot up. ‘Oh?’

She bites her lip. ‘That was a horrible thing to do to you that day at the pub. I regret it and I’m sorry. Casey broke up with me the minute she returned from Berlin and she told me about you.’ Her cheeks redden. ‘I was trying to hurt her, and maybe you a bit, but mostly her.’

I feel a wave of empathy for Eva, having been there myself. ‘I understand.’ I want to tell her that I would’ve stayed away from Casey if I knew, but I’m not certain that’s true. Casey’s pull on me was too strong. I would’ve tried; I would’ve encouraged Casey to speak to Eva sooner, but stay away completely? Unlikely. Instead, I say, ‘I really should thank you because if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have gone home and had the chance to say goodbye to my mum in person.’

Her eyes fill with compassion. ‘Casey told me about that. I am so sorry about your mum.’

I shift my gaze and take a deep breath before I give her a smile. ‘Thank you.’ I point to Aunty Carol, who’s talking to Casey’s parents. ‘Mum’s younger sister is here tonight, so that’s nice.’

A soft, protective hand lands on my back and Casey is by my side. ‘Eva.’

Eva’s jaw tenses. ‘Don’t worry, I was just apologising.’

‘And complimenting my photos,’ I say, feeling the need to defend Eva.

Eva gives me a grateful nod. ‘Yeah, that too.’

‘Thanks for coming,’ Casey says, her tone softening.

Eva points behind her where Frankie is gazing at a painting. ‘Thank Frankie. She’s the art lover.’ She gives a little shrug. ‘And I couldn’t miss the photo of my girl Leila.’ Her eyes dart between us. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Okay?’ Casey asks once Eva has moved away.

I release a relieved sigh. ‘Yes. I was more worried about seeing her than I realised.’ I give Casey a little shove. ‘Go on. Get back to work.’

Casey returns her attention to artists and buyers, and I get back into celebratory mode, squealing with delight when I see Felix and Matias walk through the door. Matias and I have become great friends, bonding over photography.

‘I thought you couldn’t make it,’ I say, giving them both a hug.

‘Last-minute change of plans,’ Felix says.

‘I couldn’t miss your gorgeous photos,’ Matias adds.

A waitperson appears and we each grab a glass of champagne and catch up on life in London and Berlin.

Eventually, I’m alone in front my photographs.

The first is of Casey, Chandice and their parents working together in the butcher’s. We’d stayed at Casey’s parents’ place one Friday night and a staff member called in sick the next day, so Casey had reluctantly helped them out. I arrived with my camera as they were closing. I liked what I’d snapped at the time, but it wasn’t until I examined the images closely on a larger screen that I found one I loved.

They’re mid-activity, a lyrical flow to their movements, an unbreakable bond between the four of them. Marvin’s hands are busy covering meat trays while he watches his daughters with a bemused smile, adoration in his dark eyes. Wendy’s mouth is open in a joyous laugh as she wipes down a counter. Chandice and Casey are bent over a single mop handle, using it as a makeshift microphone. Chandice’s arm is flung in the air, a cleaning cloth dangling from her fingers. Casey’s eyes are partially closed, her mouth open, belting out a song in her white butcher’s apron. It’s the most perfect shot and Casey had a tear in her eye when she saw the final product. It’s hers after the exhibition finishes.

I move to the next photo. Jazzy and Leila, taken late one afternoon when we were all at Jaz and Casey’s. Leila had come straight from work, arriving with bags of new purchases from her store. She disappeared, returning to the lounge room five minutes later in a long, slinky dress with a split that ran to the top of her thigh. The silk was taut across her breasts and clung to the curve of her waist and hips. On her feet were a pair of glittery, strappy heels that set off her golden skin. Jaz fell to her knees with a whimper and crawled across the carpet. I lifted my camera as Jaz knelt in front of her, gazing up with smouldering eyes. Leila had one foot placed against Jaz’s shoulder, the heel of her shoe denting Jaz’s skin, a wicked smirk on her face and one slick eyebrow raised. They were completely caught up in each other, oblivious to me swiftly moving around them to capture the moment. The image sizzles from the chemistry between them.

‘The woman who literally brings me to my knees,’ Jaz says, appearing beside me.

I smile. ‘There’s a lot of heat and connection in that photo, Jazzy.’

‘Mmm. I think I might actually love her.’

‘Oh, you think? It’s not like it’s obvious or anything,’ I say with a laugh.

Across the gallery, Leila is dancing with Eva. She catches us watching her and blows Jaz a kiss.