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Chapter 6

Casey, London

The workday has finally ended and I’ve been looking forward to a bevvy with Jaz all week. I lock the gallery doors and cross the narrow street to the pub opposite. A light mist of rain falls, and despite the warm weather earlier in the week, the air carries a damp chill that signals summer will soon be gone. The wet tables outside are empty but inside it’s crowded and noisy with an end-of-work-week buzz. In the far corner I spot Jaz’s tight, black curls. She sticks her hand up then points to a full pint on the table in a ‘I’ve got you sorted’ way.

‘Alll riiight,’ she drawls as I reach her. Her dark eyes are framed by black liner, her lashes thick with mascara and her brown cheeks shimmer with a glittery blush.

‘All right, Jazzy Jaz.’ I take the seat opposite. ‘You’re all dolled up.’

She pouts, the overhead lighting making her glossy lips shine, and gives her curls a bounce. ‘I like to look good on a Friday night.’ She gestures to the glass in front of me with an upward nod. ‘You sounded stressed, so I got your pint in.’

‘Cheers, mate.’ The crisp, cool ale slides down my throat as I take a slow sip. ‘Ah.’ I place the glass down and slump against the back of the chair. ‘I needed that. This week has been so fucked.’

Jaz shakes her head, her dangly gold hoop earrings swinging from side to side. ‘You need to stop letting Eva run your life.’

‘She’s not.’

‘She is. And you let her because…’ Jaz leans forward, her eyes sparkly and mischievous. ‘You’re whipped by the pus-say.’

I screw up my face. ‘What? Don’t do that.’

She grins. ‘Do what?’

‘Say “pus-say” like you’re some geezer from an eighties porno.’

She laughs, loud and unapologetic. ‘I’m totally an eighties porno geezer.’

I laugh too, not because it’s particularly funny, but because her laughter is infectious. Even the people at the next table look at us and chuckle. ‘That you are,’ I say. ‘And I’m not whipped by anyone’s vulva.’

Jaz shudders. ‘Ugh. I hate that word. Sounds like you’re about to jump in and go for a drive in the countryside. At least say vag.’

I smile. ‘Okay, I’m not whipped by Eva’s vag. It’s just the wedding. There’s a lot to do.’

‘Fuck, mate. You still haven’t told her you don’t want to get married?’

‘I can’t. She’ll be devastated if I call it off. She’s like, really into it, excited about her dress, spent heaps of money.’

‘You mean Mummy and Daddy have spent heaps of money.’

It’s true that Eva’s parents are paying for the wedding. I tried to dissuade them – Eva and I can afford a nice enough wedding – but they insisted. I shrug. ‘That’s what they want.’

‘Still, I don’t think they’ll be too pleased when you get divorced in a year’s time.’

I sip my pint. ‘You’re such a sceptic,’ I say.

A waitperson appears and places a large basket of chips and a silver pot filled with tomato sauce in the middle of our table.

‘Cheers,’ Jaz says. She dips a chip and points it at me, a blob of sauce landing on the wooden table. ‘I’m a realist. And you’re not in love. Divorce is inevitable.’

I reach across and wipe up her sauce mess with a napkin. ‘I love her and getting married is important to her, so what’s the problem?’ I shove a few chips into my mouth and wait for the latest reason I shouldn’t marry Eva.

‘Yeah, you love her. That’s different to being in love. And the problem is you’re giving up the chance of being truly happy, finding the one.’

I ignore her and go in for more chips. Jaz’s eyes flit behind me and I turn to see a curvaceous body saunter past, accompanied by a flirty smile Jaz’s way.

‘They’re probably my soul mate,’ Jaz says, leaning towards me so I can hear her low voice over the crowd.

I wash down the chips with a gulp of ale. ‘You’ll have about ten soul mates tonight.’