Page 7 of Love or Your Money Back
CHAPTER
I must look pale as we herd away from the woodland clearing, because Aunt Caro offers me her hip flask. I gratefully accept.
‘I’ve sterilised the lid,’ she reassures me, unnecessarily, as I take a swig.
Chris is married.
He’s married
.
I don’t know what else I was expecting on his wedding day. But it hurts. I love him. Still.
Sylvia tugs at the shoulders of my woolly dress then smooths down my hair. ‘Come on. Let’s get you a plate of that awful finger food over there. Then you can meet this dentist.’
Chris and Minola sit at a top table of sorts – a giant, upturned wooden spindle set with silver goblets, jewelled plates and a load of woodland detritus. There are no seats for the rest of us.
‘Katerina.’ Freddy’s clipped accent interrupts my misery. ‘This is a great time to talk business, don’t you think?’
‘We are not talking business.’
Ding, ding, ding!
At the top table, Chris stands, tapping his newly ringed finger on a tumbler of pink liquid. I’m guessing the pink liquid is Chris’s infamous sherry, vodka and scrumpy cider cocktail, because he’s already swaying like a jetty on gently lapping water.
‘Oh god.’ I look around. ‘Speeches already? I’m not drunk enough. Where’s Aunt Caro with that hip flask?’
‘Here.’ Freddy grabs a Prosecco bottle from a passing waiter.
‘This is for the top table only,’ the waiter protests.
Freddy hands the waiter a fifty-pound note with a tired look. ‘Take a walk to Aldi or Lidl or wherever this cheap crap came from and keep the ￡45 change.’
The waiter nods and scurries away.
Freddy looks around. ‘Darling, you need a glass.’
‘No, I don’t.’ I grab the bottle and take a long swig. ‘This counts as a reasonable portion size today.’
‘Greetings, wedding guests.’ Chris’s theatrical voice booms across the clearing. ‘I want to kick off this celebration by apologising to my former fiancée, Kat. Sorry about falling madly in love with Minola here!’
Gentle laughter drifts around the clearing as if this is a perfectly acceptable joke.
My heart clenches.
‘Kat, where are you?’ Chris looks around. ‘Ah! There.’
Cool humiliation works its way around my stomach, as everyone turns in my direction. I try to hold myself with quiet dignity, but that isn’t possible because I’m halfway through swigging a Prosecco bottle.
‘Here’s to Kat.’ Chris raises his tumbler. ‘There’s no friend like an old friend.’
The word ‘ old
’ feels like a punch in the face.
‘Thanks, Chris.’ I raise my bottle. ‘Here’s to your wedding.’
‘And here’s to your
wedding, Kat.’ Chris gives me a lopsided smile. ‘It’s one of your life goals, isn’t it? Married before you the age of 35?’ He turns to the crowd. ‘Kat told me that the first night we met!’
Minola’s friends and family roar with laughter.
‘I also told you I would start a publishing company and buy a house in Bloomsbury,’ I shout back. ‘Both of which I did –’
‘Wait, there’s more!’ Chris roars, clearly pleased with the audience’s reaction. ‘Kat also
told me she wanted two children, and that marriage was to make sure I wouldn’t run away and leave her as a single mother. Still
on the first
night we met!’
Helpless laughter.
‘But you’re right about marriage, Kat.’ Chris turns serious and grabs Minola’s hand. ‘It’s a great thing to do. And even if you don’t manage your
life goal, kitty cat, I’m glad you’re here to celebrate with us.’
My knuckles turn white around the Prosecco bottle. ‘I might still get married this year, Chris. You never know.’
‘Wow, Kat.’ Chris shakes his head. ‘Drunk already. I like your style.’
‘I’m not drunk.’ I lean to place the Prosecco bottle on an upright log, but my left leg chooses that moment to throw itself out and …
Ooof!
I fall, Prosecco bottle rolling, spilling and fizzing on the woodland floor.
White-grey sky drifts above me, and I feel twigs, pebbles and dried leaves under various sore body parts.
Ouch.
‘She’s not drunk, everyone!’ Chris’s voice soars over me, accompanied by shrieks of laughter. Then Freddy’s concerned face comes into view. He grabs my hand with the certainty and force of a blood pressure cuff and pulls me to my feet.
‘What was that all about, darling?’ he asks. ‘You’re not drunk. You only had three swigs of Prosecco.’
I redden. ‘Well, if you must know, it’s true what Aunty Sylvia was saying earlier. About me having a degenerative disease. I have a touch of MS. And stop calling me darling.’
‘A what?’
‘A touch of MS. Multiple sclerosis. Just a little brush of it. Nothing to worry about. Sometimes it makes my legs unsteady.’
‘Can you get a touch
of MS?’ Freddy asks. ‘I thought it was a pretty serious condition?’
‘Every person’s MS is as different as a snowflake,’ I say. ‘Mine is relapsing, remitting. It comes and goes. It’s worse when I’m stressed. Or overwhelmed. Or tired.’
‘I bet you’re all of those things today,’ says Freddy. ‘Do you want me to find you somewhere to sit? I can move a log –’
‘As much as I’d love to see you showing off how strong you are,’ I say, ‘I’m okay. I just need to stand where no one can see me and eat some yellow food from the buffet.’
‘You know Chris is an idiot, right?’
‘Yes.’ I sigh. ‘I know. But he’s also funny and exciting and romantic and –.’
‘And you still love him.’
‘For a megalomaniac, you’re surprisingly perceptive.’
‘You and I aren’t so different, Kat. Tough on the outside, soft in the middle.’
‘I’m nothing like you. And for what it’s worth, I know that me and Chris are over. I have told my brain, in no uncertain terms, to move on. I just wish my heart would catch up.’
‘How did you end up with that man, anyway?’
‘Chris was my first love. We’ve been together, on and off, since I was eighteen. We got together just after my mother died.’
‘Ah.’ Freddy clicks his fingers. ‘That makes sense. He got in while you were vulnerable. Sorry, darling. Bad luck.’
‘You don’t need to be sorry.’ I don’t have the energy to rebuke Freddy for saying ‘darling’ again. He clearly has a compulsion. Like tourettes. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get on with something.’
‘Get on with what?’
‘The final piece of closure. I need to offer the happy couple my congratulations.’