Page 44 of The Wedding Game

‘Slow-cooked pulled pork and a few unfussy sides. Just stuff I threw in the oven earlier. I hope you don’t mind it’s so simple,’ Tamara says in response to our enthusiastic sniffing when we arrive. She leads us in through the front door of her chocolate-box cottage, wisteria vines growing around the top window frames.

‘Slow-cooked pulled pork doesn’t sound so simple,’ I mutter as we take off our shoes and go through to the kitchen. Josh stops in front of me and I crash into him. I peer round him to see there’s a man at the kitchen table, smiling affably.

‘Hi,’ I say from behind Josh, who shuffles forward. ‘We met in the pub the other night,’ I continue, pointing out the obvious after I tagged along to join Josh and the farm team for some after-work drinks.

‘Hi, how’s it going?’ Mark, the pub landlord, replies. He’s our age and very good-looking. This feels like a double date.

Tamara puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Mark’s joining us for dinner. I hope that’s OK?’

I laugh because it’s such a strange thing to say. What if we were to say,No, chuck him out?‘Of course,’ I reply. ‘Nice to see you again.’

‘Likewise,’ he says, standing to kiss me on my cheek and shake Josh’s hand.

‘Let me check on the potatoes dauphinoise,’ Tamara trills.

I cast Josh a look he doesn’t understand. ‘It’s a popular dish,’ I nudge him, with a knowing smile.

‘Is it?’ he asks.

‘I only just made it for you,’ I prod.

‘Oh … yeah,’ Josh replies absently.

‘I’ve been making it for years. My gran taught me,’ Tamara says, her back to us as she digs around in the oven. ‘The trick is to add much more garlic than you think.’

‘Do you think I added enough?’ I look to Josh for confirmation that my cooking skills aren’t that dire.

He looks trapped, as if I’ve asked a trick question. ‘Um …’

‘There’s no wrong answer,’ I say helpfully.

‘Tam … shall I open this wine?’ Mark asks, tactfully turning away from us and uncorking the bottle.

Tamara glances at me. ‘Don’t compare yourself to me. I’ve been feeding up Josh for the best part of a decade. Every few days he’s here, or I’m at his, and we try to outdo each other every time – we should probably enterMasterChef. I take it he’s managed to cook you a few decent meals since you moved in?’

I smile and then realise what she’s said. ‘I haven’tmoved in,’ I reply quickly, assuming Josh has given his best friend the lowdown, but hasn’t successfully articulated it. ‘I’m just staying on for a bit. And yes, the man can cook.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Tamara says jovially as she lifts dishes out of the oven. Mark helps carry items over with a floral pair of oven gloves and remains silent.

‘Every few days?’ I mutter, barely adjusting my brain to fully receive this information.

‘Sorry?’ Josh says.

‘You’re at each other’s houses every few days for dinner?’ I ask.

‘I guess so, yeah. Usually. Not while you’re here, though,’ Josh replies, planting a quick kiss on my lips. ‘Other than right now, obviously,’ he chuckles.

I turn to Mark and, willing the conversation in a different direction, I grill him about the pub and how long he’s been running it. He touches Tamara’s hand every now and again as we talk through dinner. Tamara’s dauphinoise is better than mine, and I catch her touching Mark’s arm for emphasis when she talks about … anything. I keep thinking about the fact that she and Josh usually see each other for dinner every few days. Is that odd? I see Scarlet almost every night for dinner, but we live together.

The fact that Tamara and Mark touch each other so readily does rather take the edge off my paranoia, though. I wonder if she’s ever fancied Josh, or if he’s ever fancied her? If so, surely one of them would have done something about it by now. I wonder if theyhavedone something about it previously, and this is now the friendship aftermath. I feel I may need to watchWhen Harry Met Sally.

But the chat has moved on and the in-jokes between Tamara and Josh are hard to ignore, the shared history that surfaces in their conversation with ‘Do you remember when …?’ and ‘So this one time …’ and ‘Your mum said the funniest thing to me the other day …’

I’m not in on any of this, and neither is Mark – we smile politely, top up our wine glasses and help clear plates, while Josh and Tamara witter on around us, politely trying to include us.

Pudding is ice cream again, which makes me laugh and sigh in equal measure. Tamara must bedrowningin ice cream. She opens her freezer and, sure enough, there are plenty of plain white tubs in there with sample flavours scribbled on the sides.

‘What do you think of all the flavours so far?’ I ask Mark.

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