Page 80 of The Wedding Game

‘She’s leaving too.’

‘Where’s she going?’ Chris asks conversationally.

‘Scotland, would you believe?’

He raises his eyebrows, his eyes wide. ‘Cool. Why?’

‘She’s going freelance, and her boyfriend lives near Edinburgh.’

‘Is she doing what you’re doing? Is she moving in with him?’

‘No. It’s too soon for that, and Scarlet knows it. But this is the closest she’s got to a long-term relationship since the dawn of time and she’s giving it her all. So is he. They’re well suited and want to make it work. Rory lives near his family, and Scarlet’s is a bit like mine: scattered all over the place. She’s got no realneedto be in London, so she’s renting a little one-bed place and seeing how she gets on up there. She hates the cold, so that might be a bit of a shock, but she’s willing to suffer it for love.’

‘Good on her.’

‘Yeah, I think so too.’

We sip our drinks and I’m already halfway through my first one, a Raspberry Bellini – I wish I’d ordered something bigger, as it’s quite small.

‘So if you went on holiday on your own,’ I start, ‘does that mean …?’

He takes a deep breath. ‘I’ve broken up with Kayla.’

‘Have you? I’m sorry to hear that.’ I’m not sure if Imean this or not. I feel strange about it. Although … why? ‘I must stop thinking of her as Tinder Swipe, although I guess if you’ve broken up with her, I won’t be thinking of her again.’

He rewards my light-hearted jibe with a slow chuckle.

‘What happened?’

He shrugs. ‘Incompatibility, to quote your words.’

‘When did I say that?’

‘The night we first met. About your last boyfriend. “Incompatible enough for him to cheat on me after only eight months” was, I believe, your phrase.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ I agree slowly. ‘I did say that. Thanks for reminding me. Is that what happened? Did she cheat on you?’

‘No. I just realised our relationship wasn’t the type I wanted.’

‘Ouch!’

‘I know what I want now. This is progress for me. It’s not fair to keep someone hanging when you know there’s no future.’

I listen to his words. Chris is right. They do make me think, though. ‘So you ended it?’ I question.

‘I’m of an age—’ he starts.

‘Please,’ I splutter. ‘You’re thirty-six.’

‘Thirty-seven’ he says.

‘Have I missed your birthday?’ I’m easily distracted.

‘Yeah, it was in October.’

‘Oh, sorry. Happy belated birthday.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Can I continue?’ he asks.

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