Page 102 of Be More Lucy

‘I’m feeling absolutely fine and that’s simply not true.’ Nancy looked indignant. ‘What about when you had the interview for Cambridge?’

‘Ok, I exaggerated slightly. You only offer to iron for me once every 18 years. Why are you suddenly concerned about my shirts?’

‘We don’t want Lucy thinking you’ve lost pride in your personal appearance, do we?’

‘Are you matchmaking again?’

She put her hands on her hips. ‘Are you objecting? You told me Lucy was the love of your life.’

‘She is.’

‘So why the glum face? You’re single again. She’s not been out with anyone since you broke up. This should be as easy as pushing at an open door. She’s not exactly a Vestal virgin.’

‘What about Harry?’

‘Who’s Harry?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. I take it you don’t know anything about him?’

‘No, it’s the first I’ve heard about any Harry as far as Lucy is concerned.’

‘He’s a complete mystery. No one seems to know anything about him. Even Em.’

‘You know how you could find out?’

‘How?’

‘Ask Lucy.’

‘Thank you for that excellent advice. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. But there seems to be a conspiracy afoot to keep us apart.’

‘Don’t be paranoid. Everyone’s busy getting ready for the party, that’s all. So what about that shirt?’

‘How’s it feel to be a married man again?’ Mark asked as Jack drove them both out of Dashford Grange.

‘A lot better than last time.’ Jack had barely been able to keep the smile off his face since he’d signed the marriage register, lucky bastard.

‘Does this mean you’re expecting me to conjure up a best man’s speech for this evening?’

Jack laughed. ‘No. After your last attempt, that’s one of the reasons I suggested a surprise wedding.’

‘The stories of our escapades didn’t go down too well with bride number one, did they?’

Mark remembered Isabella’s face when he was recounting a few of the scrapes that he and Jack had got into over the years. She’d looked particularly sour when he’d described them drunkenly trying to get back into Jack’s student digs after a late night out when Jack had forgotten his keys. The backyards of the terraced houses had all looked very similar in the dark. They’d climbed through an open window into the wrong house. Mark had flaked out on the sofa while Jack had gone upstairs and clambered into bed with his neighbour, who, after her initial surprise, had been very accommodating.

‘So when are you going to make an honest woman of Hannah?’ Jack asked.

‘I’m not.’

Jack looked shocked. ‘What’s changed?’

‘We’ve split up.’ Mark filled him in on Hannah, Josh and the paternity test.

‘When did you get the results?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘How do you feel?’

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