Page 87 of The Wedding Game

‘What?’ I whisper back. ‘Your job? Are you? Why?’

‘I’ve been there years,’ he says. ‘And now this project’s done, I fancy a change. Change is good,’ he goes on, as if convincing himself and not me.

‘It is,’ I say blithely. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ve got a job lined up here.’

I open my mouth in surprise. ‘Here?In London? Are you moving back?’

‘Shh,’ he whispers. ‘I haven’t told anyone yet.’

I look at him, waiting for more.

He obliges. ‘Yes, I’m moving back. And I’ve been … kind of … seeing someone in London too,’ he says slowly.

My smile falters and I don’t know why, but I have to force my face to lift it back into place. ‘And it’s serious enough for you to move back here for?’ My voice has suddenly gone really high.

‘Shh,’ he says again. ‘No. Not yet. But getting a new job here and kind of seeing a woman from here have coincided and have forced my hand into making decisions. I realise I’m letting my life pass me by. I’ve had my life in New York for a few years and it’s been a blast. But the way I see it, I can move back, work here for as long as it suits me, rent somewhere and I’m only as tied in as I want to be. If I stay, then so be it. But if not … it’s not a big deal. While I’m young and free, I might as well let my feet take me where they want me to go.’

‘You were moaning last time how you felt old, you nomad.’

‘Being a nomad’s not a bad thing. I’m a suit-wearing nomad,’ Chris fires back conversationally. ‘So not a real one.’

‘Big life-decision.’

‘Yeah. But one I’m excited about.’

‘Who is she, then? This woman who’s making you reassess your life?’

‘You’re misunderstanding me,’ he says. ‘I’m just seeing someone and she happens to be here, and I happen to have accepted a job here. I’m not sure why I mentioned her now. She’s a by-product of what’s happening.’

‘A by-product? What a lovely description.’

‘You know what I mean,’ he dismisses my comment.

‘I’m not sure I do, but we’ll go with it, if you like. But you haven’t answered my question.’

‘What question?’

‘Who is she?’ I ask again. It shouldn’t bother me this much, but it does. Chris and I let living in different continents get in the way of anything that might have happened between us. But whoever this woman is, she’s special enough to make him reassess. I’m not buying the by-product story.

He looks as if he doesn’t know how to say this. ‘Her name’s Victoria.’

‘More, please,’ I prompt.

He smiles. ‘We met at your anti-house-warming party.’

I give him a blank look and then it dawns on me. ‘The woman you arrived with?’

He nods. ‘Yeah.’

‘Scarlet’s boss?’

‘Yeah, I think so. At the time. But now Scarlet’s in Edinburgh going freelance, I’m not sure Victoria’s her boss any more.’

‘Semantics,’ I say. ‘How did you guys …?’

‘The usual way, or rather the unusual way these days. I met her the same way I met you: at an event where I didn’t have a plus-one. We got chatting while in the kitchen, pouring ourselves some of that lethal poison you concocted. It was quite the talking point.’

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