Page 56 of The Player

Spying Max and Felix, I edge through the crowd, stopping every few seconds to accept hugs. Our group’s voices are loud on the air.

I finally come up next to them. They’re leaning against the old brick wall of the hotel, both dressed in navy suits. Max’s arm is slung over Felix’s shoulder, and he’s saying something that is making the younger man laugh.

They look up at me. “Congratulations, babe,” Felix says.

“Thank you.”

I accept a hug from him and then his boyfriend. I pat Max’s cheek affectionately. I love my old neighbour, and I miss him now he lives in London, but we see them regularly, and a night on their boat is always interesting. Last time we stopped over, Con turned left rather than right and ended up going for an unscheduled swim.

“Where’s my present, Max?” I ask, and he snorts with laughter, his high-boned face wearing its usual naughty grin.

“It’s nice to meet a couple who know that the marital bond is the important part of the day.”

“Tell it to the next couple.” I click my fingers. “Where’s my present?”

Felix winks at me. “Max wanted to give you a poem that he wrote.”

I gape at him. “What? You were making my present?”

Max huffs. “I am a very famous author, you know. It might have been worth something in years to come.”

“I’d rather have something that’s worth a lot now.”

Felix bursts into laughter. “We settled for a toaster because the poem became very rude, and Max couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with testicle. He gave up in the end.”

Con comes up next to us, hugging the two men, his face full of affection. He turns to me. “We’re going in now. Ready?”

I stare at him. The sunshine is playing over his handsome face, and the wind ruffles his thick hair. “I’ve never been more ready for anything,” I say, and he grins.

“How about the Harvey Nicks sale when you made me buy a tent to sleep in the line so you wouldn’t miss out on getting that suitcase?”

I roll my eyes. “Why are you so cynical?”

The wedding is held in a room at the back of the hotel. The walls are painted green, and it has bifolding doors that let in lots of light. They open onto a flagged patio, where we’ll take the photos afterwards.

The service itself seems to pass in a dream. The only things I can focus on are Con’s warm eyes and the strength of his grasp on my hand.

“Are there any objections to this wedding?” the registrar finally says, offering us a wink. “I always like this part,” she whispers. “Sends a frisson of danger through me.”

The grin drops off her face as a gloomy voice intones, “He drowned her in the bathtub.”

There’s a stunned silence in the room. “I beg your pardon?” the registrar exclaims.

I look around wildly, finding the culprit sitting on Joan’s shoulder, preening. “Oh, it’s the bird. The parrot,” I say urgently. “There he is. He’s obsessed with true crime programmes.”

The registrar blinks and says weakly, “Silly me. I thought it was someone informing me that one of the grooms is a murderer.”

“What? No.” I give a little laugh. “Of course not. Do we look like murderers?” She gives me a wary look. “Well, maybe I do, but you have no idea the stress of planning a wedding. Okay, you do, but I’m very stressed, and I just want to be married to Con and?—”

“For the love of god, stoptalking,” Con breathes, a strange expression on his face. Is he going to faint?

I look at him closer. He’s trying not to laugh. “Idiot,” I breathe.

Unfortunately, it’s too loud.

“I beg your pardon?” the registrar exclaims again.

“Oh, not you,” I say quickly. “No, no, no. Of course not you. You are not an idiot.” I jerk my thumb at Con. “He is.”

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