Page 67 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘Feel free to use it any time,’ says Charles. ‘I could do with some home cooking.’

‘What do you make mostly?’ asks Celeste as she opens the door of the top-of-the-range Miele oven and peers inside.

‘Oven chips,’ he replies. ‘And pizza.’

She looks at him in horror, and I laugh.

‘Seriously,’ he says. ‘I don’t cook. I get stuff delivered.’

‘How are you so fit?’ she demands.

‘I get good stuff delivered. I work out too, although not as often as I should. Anyway,’ he says, ‘let’s get back to the madding crowd.’

We follow him upstairs, and he’s immediately accosted by a man who he introduces as Myles, another author. Celeste is interested when he says he writes historical fiction, and they move slightly to one side as he tells her about his latest novel, set during the Second World War.

‘Are you having fun?’ Charles asks me.

‘Yes. Thanks for asking us.’

‘I wanted you here.’ He reaches out for another glass of champagne and hands it to me. ‘You look lovely, by the way. That dress suits you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Though it’ll always remind me of almost dumping drink over you in the Caribbean.’

‘Me too.’ I grin.

‘I was so lucky to meet you there.’

‘I enjoyed spending time with you.’

The conversation between us isn’t exactly flowing. Every time we meet, the first few minutes alone are awkward.

‘There’ll be fireworks later.’

For a moment I think he means between us, but then I see him glance out of the window, where a couple of men are setting up the display.

‘I thought private firework displays weren’t allowed,’ I remark.

‘Not strictly,’ he concedes. ‘But it’s only a few, and none of the neighbours have dogs so they don’t mind. In fact, they usually come out to have a look themselves.’ He slides his arm around my waist and pulls me towards him. ‘Come on. Let’s introduce you to a few people.’

We plunge into the crowd, where I meet men and women whose names I instantly forget. After a while, Charles abandons me and I wonder if he’s going to come back. I look around for Celeste, and see she’s talking to a very tall, very skinny red-headed man. She’s laughing, he has a big grin on his face and the chemistry between them seems good. I don’t want to interrupt them, but I don’t know anyone else, and besides, they’re all involved in deep discussions. I do what everyone in these circumstances does and take out my phone. I’ve missed five messages, all early Happy New Year GIFs from my work WhatsApp group. I send one back, and then another message comes in.

Wishing you all the best for the coming year and hoping it’s good to you. Sx

I should have bloody blocked him at Christmas. Annoyingly, he’s going to know I’ve seen this message now. So I send one back saying Same to you, and then my phone rings.

‘How are things?’ he asks.

I’m struggling to hear him over the noise, so I walk into the hallway. It’s equally noisy here, and I open the door to the dining-room where the waiting staff are loading up trays with more glasses of champagne. I apologise, take a glass that one of the waiters hands me, and return to the downstairs kitchen, which is blissfully quiet. Even as I do, I wonder why I’m bothering. Why I don’t tell Steve I’m busy and can’t talk to him. Instead, I say I’m at a party.

‘Where?’ He sounds peeved.

‘Terenure.’

‘Terenure! You don’t know anyone in Terenure.’

‘Obviously I do.’