Page 10 of The Wedding Game

‘Me neither. Serial dating is the worst,’ I say.

‘Dating in general is pretty dire,’ Chris observes. ‘But how will we ever meet people if we don’t date?’

‘You should be able to meet peoplebeforehaving to endure a date. Like in a normal way,’ I say.

Chris nods enthusiastically. ‘You go on a date withsomeone you’ve never even spoken to. Or met!I can’t get how we’ve normalised that.’

It’s my turn to enthuse. ‘You turn up, a bag of nerves, and you wait. What if they don’t turn up?’ I ask.

‘Or what if they do and they don’t look like their profile picture. Or they’ve lied about everything you thought you had in common with them and it turns out they havezerohobbies,’ Chris goes on, rising to the point.

‘Or,’ I continue, ‘it was fantastic when you were typing cute flirty messages to each other, but now you’re sitting face-to-face across a table, nursing a warm glass of wine, and it turns out there isnochemistry whatsoever. There are so many things that can go wrong. And you’re there for an hour minimum, watching the sand-timer of your life run out, waiting for it to end so you can try it all again with someone else a few days later.’

Chris stares at me, takes a deep breath. ‘That’s dark, so you’ve obviously had some bad experiences. I’ve not beenmissing out by being in a quasi-relationship with someone who just wasn’t into me.’

‘You have not,’ I confirm.

‘See, that’s why I don’t do online dating,’ Chris answers, as if reminding himself of the multitude of reasons why it’s bleak. ‘Andthis,’ he says, gesturing to the invisible but new connection between the two of us out here on the terrace, ‘is the reason why I don’t bring plus-ones to weddings.’

‘This?’ I question.

‘You and I just met on a terrace at a wedding, because I was out here catching some air andnotushering a plus-one around. It gave me room to meet you and have a great conversation, and that doesn’t happen very often.’

I think about Scarlet, not ushering me around a wedding as her plus-one, but instead probably snogging the face off the blond waiter. I’m glad I met Chris, out here like this, even if he is about to leave.

His thoughts must echo mine because he says softly, ‘It’s a shame I’m leaving.’

‘It is,’ I reply quietly. And then, because I’ve got nothing to lose, I continue, ‘Of course I meet a really nice man and he lives nowhere near me.’

Chris holds my gaze and it feels so real, so natural. It’s the kind of look I’ve been desperate to experience … for years. And this man, out here, who is getting on a plane and leaving London in a matter of hours, is giving methatmuch-longed-for look.

I smile and, knowing the connection and the chemistrybetween us are real, I risk saying, ‘There’s not too much we can do about this.’

‘Perhaps online datingisthe answer after all,’ he sighs.

‘Don’t do a U-turn on me now.’

‘Dating apps would never have shown you a guy who lives in New York,’ he counters.

I laugh. ‘True. I’ve widened my search criteria, but not bythatmuch.’

He laughs in return, and then somewhere in the recesses of his pocket his phone alarm goes off. ‘That’s my cue to get moving.’

My chest tightens. ‘It was a lovely four minutes,’ I tell him.

‘It wasn’t long enough,’ he says meaningfully. We stand for a beat, just looking at each other, and then he continues, ‘I need to say bye to Dan and grab my luggage from reception. Come with me? We might be able to squeeze in some more Big Talk.’

I smile as we walk away from the terrace and into the house, where the slow dancing has long since ended. The retro beat of Pulp’s ‘Common People’ blasts out, and the dance floor thrums under our feet as people bounce around us. I momentarily lose Chris and he turns, touches my fingers and holds my hand, sending a jolt through me as he leads me through the crowd. He finds the groom, says something I can’t hear and embraces him in a bear hug. I see Josh and he turns to look at me, giving me a quick smile. I return it and then he looks away, singing along as the chorus plays, while jumping up and down with his friends.

Chris and I make our way through the library and, in the corner of the room, Scarlet and the waiter are standing by the books, talking and smiling. I’m relieved I’ve found her. The waiter’s holding a tray of dirty glasses, but isn’t making any signs of returning them to the kitchen. Instead he’s laughing at something she’s said. In the quiet of the flagstone-tiled reception area Chris walks towards the desk and asks for his luggage and, when he’s collected it, turns to me.

I stand there, knowing this is almost it. It’s too fast. It’s all moving too fast. Meeting someone, flirting, realising you like them … then they leave to go back to where they live, very, very far away. It’s not supposed to happen like this, surely.

Chris starts to speak, but he’s cut off by his phone. ‘Hang on,’ he tells me and lifts it to his ear. ‘Thanks,’ he says to the caller. ‘I’ll be there in a second.’

‘It’s my taxi,’ he tells me as he hangs up. ‘Shit,’ he goes on, looking at me with a sad smile. We walk together towards the large double doors, open because the welcome breeze of the day has long since left and the evening air is warm, still.

As we cross the threshold and stand on the steps I ask, ‘Do you maybe want to … um …’ I trail off.

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