8. Casey, London

Istretch out my arms and legs as I slowly stir. My eyelids open and Eva comes into focus, perched on the end of the bed, arms crossed, lips pursed. ‘Jesus,' I say. ‘You scared me.' I grope around for my phone. ‘You're awake already? What time is it?'

‘I'm awake because it's eleven and we need to be at my parents' by one.'

I groan. ‘It's Saturday morning, Eva. I need more sleep.'

‘Well, you can't, because we need to leave soon.'

‘No.'

‘Yes, Casey, we arranged it.'

‘You arranged it. I didn't have a say – as usual.'

She scoffs, her arms still tightly crossed. ‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘Nothing. I don't want to go.'

She glares at me.

‘You never come to my parents' when I ask you,' I say.

‘That's different.'

My defences rise. ‘How? Because my parents' house isn't as nice as yours?'

Her arms relax. ‘That's not what I meant. It's different because today we're going over the speeches, finalising the menu…'

I throw the pillow over my head and groan. I can't deal with weddings at this hour. ‘You don't need me there,' I say, my voice muffled.

She rips the pillow off me. ‘I do! I need your support.'

‘Tell them I'm sick. It's not untrue.'

‘Well, if you hadn't been out drinking and taking drugs all night with Jaz, you'd be able to do things with your fiancée.' She hops up and opens the curtains. The late morning light floods the room and I glimpse some blue sky, the grey from yesterday gone.

‘We weren't taking drugs all night.' I throw off the duvet and head to the kitchen, Eva on my tail. I flick the switch on the kettle and grab the cafetière, scooping in some ground coffee beans.

‘Oh, so you were taking drugs, then?'

‘We had a few lines, some drinks, and danced.' The vet nurse materialises in my mind, but I quickly banish the image and shove down the guilt. ‘I was having a good time with my bestie. It was a stressful week. I'm allowed to have fun, Eva.' I fill the cafetière with boiling water, plunge it and pour two coffees, handing one to her before shuffling back to the bedroom.

‘I bet Jaz got off with someone,' she says, following me.

‘She did.' I sip the coffee, the strong, bitter flavour satisfying my tastebuds, and climb back into bed.

Eva places her mug on the side table and slides in beside me, fiddling with the hem of my vest top. ‘I worry when you go out with her.'

I laugh a little too hard. ‘Why?'

She watches me for a few seconds. ‘People must try it on with you.'

I quickly turn away and put my own coffee down before she can clock my guilt. ‘Sometimes, but it doesn't mean I do anything about it.'

‘But it might turn into a bender and you'll sleep with someone else again.'

About three months after Eva and I met, we had a massive barney and split. Jaz and I drank too much, took way too many drugs, and I woke the next day in a strange bed with a strange woman. Eva and I reconciled a few weeks later and I told her what had happened. But last night was the first time I've even come close to crossing that boundary.

I slip my arm around her, drawing her in. ‘That was a different situation that had nothing to do with Jaz. You also slept with someone then, and I don't give you a hard time. And we had split up,' I remind her.

‘I only slept with someone else to pay you back,' she says sulkily.

‘So, we're even. Leave it now,' I say, kissing her forehead.

She frowns. ‘Okay, but can you please ask Jaz to behave herself at the wedding? I don't want her getting off with the other bridespeople.'

I grin. ‘She's totally going to cop off with someone. You know how much she loves to pull at a wedding, especially if it's one of the bridal party – she gives herself extra points for that.'

Eva runs her hand across the bare skin between my vest top and pyjama shorts. ‘I'm just saying, I don't trust her. She doesn't like me, and I feel like she's trying to take you away.'

‘Of course she likes you. She's just…' I shrug. ‘Jaz.'

She pouts. ‘You might've got off with someone in the toilets last night.'

I roll my eyes. ‘I didn't get off with anyone in the toilets, okay? It's been a long time since I've done that.'

She gives a delicate little grunt. ‘So common.'

I bristle. She knows I hate that phrase – about anyone – but I don't rise to it. Instead, I shrug and say, ‘Well, that's me.'

She walks her fingers along my bare arm. ‘I don't mind a bit of rough.'

I give a short laugh. ‘I'm hardly a bit of rough, Eva. Besides, everyone's rough compared to you.'

Her fingertip trails my chest and my nipple hardens under the thin fabric. ‘Oh, I don't know … your tattoos and cropped hair. Your androgynous charm and East London accent. It does it for me.' She slips her hand under my top and runs her palm over my breast.

I sink down into the bed, a heat spreading between my legs, and I hate that she has this power over me. She jumps up, closes the curtains and strips off her T-shirt. I moan as my eyes roam her naked body. ‘Eva, I'm exhausted.'

She straddles my waist and bends down to kiss me, soft lips and hot tongue against mine. I sigh and run my hands up her thighs. She sits up, reaches behind and slips her hand inside my pyjama shorts. ‘Are you really too exhausted?'

‘I need to chill,' I say, but can't help pushing against her hand.

‘Please come with me this afternoon?' she pleads.

‘Oh, Eva,' I whine.

She shuffles her knees up and places them either side of my head. My eyes drift down before meeting her gaze.

She smirks. ‘I'll make it worth your while.'

‘Fuck, Eva,' I say, and press my mouth between her legs.

Eva and her friend Leila are set up at Eva's parents' dining table with laptops, notepads, champagne and a platter of figs, cheese and nuts. Dante is on FaceTime and the three of them are gushing over table settings. I'm on a stool at the island bench, chatting to Eva's mum about the long-standing barrister career she's about to retire from. I warmed to Rosa as soon as we met and I love that she always asks about my family, my job and the art in the gallery.

Rosa tops up my red wine and calls across the kitchen to Eva. ‘Oh, sweetheart, good news. That chef you wanted for the reception has confirmed.' She recorks the wine. ‘I can't remember her name – your father arranged it.'

Eva squeals. ‘What?! Are you serious?'

‘Of course I'm serious,' Rosa says. ‘You know I don't joke.'

Eva clamps her hands to her head as though it's about to explode. ‘You mean the French chef, right? Margot Laurent?'

‘Yes, that name sounds familiar,' Rosa says.

‘Oh. My. God,' Dante screeches from the laptop screen. ‘This wedding just gets better and better!'

‘Oh, Mum. Thank you.' Eva runs over and throws her arms around Rosa.

‘Thank your father. He's the one who called in a favour,' Rosa says, returning the hug.

‘Thanks, Daddy!' Eva yells through to the next room.

Rosa covers her ear. ‘Goodness. I meant when you see him.'

Eva giggles. ‘Sorry. I'm just so excited.' She turns to Leila, seemingly unaware I'm in the room. ‘Can you believe it?'

Leila shakes her head. ‘No. Her food is incredible, and she rarely does weddings.'

I stay silent, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment that I'm part of this wedding. Like Eva's read my mind, she spins to face me. ‘Babe, did you hear that?'

I nod. ‘I'm sitting right here, and people in Scotland would've heard your squeal.' I tilt my head. ‘Remind me why we need another chef? I thought that was sorted.'

Eva walks over to me and places her hands on my thighs. ‘I didn't confirm because I wanted Margot.'

‘You've never mentioned her to me, and what about that chef we spoke to a few weeks back? I liked her and she had some Jamaican dishes lined up. My gran was dead excited about that,' I say. ‘Jazzy's grandparents, too.'

Eva's face falls and Rosa says to her, ‘I thought your other options fell through?'

Her eyes dart between Rosa and me, her cheeks growing pink. ‘Well, we hadn't confirmed, and Margot's been my first choice right from the start.'

‘Why do you want a French chef anyway?' I say, struggling to keep the irritation from my voice. ‘I thought you wanted Italian for your family, along with a Jamaican and British menu. We were going for a fusion-type thing. That's what we talked about.'

Rosa shakes her head. ‘Oh, Eva.' She turns to me. ‘I'm sorry, Casey. I had no idea you'd already discussed menus with other chefs.'

‘I'm sure Margot can do whatever we want,' Eva says. ‘She's one of the top chefs in Europe.'

A vein in my neck throbs. A top chef means nothing to my family or me. My mum's idea of fancy food is buying a Victoria sponge from Waitrose instead of Asda. My phone vibrates on the bench and Jaz's image flashes on the screen. ‘Just taking this. It's Jaz.'

Eva walks back to the dining table, but Leila looks up. ‘Jaz? Tell her I said hi.'

My brows lift in surprise – this is new. ‘Sure.'

Rosa points to a door on the other side of the kitchen. ‘Go into the sitting room, if you like, Casey.'

‘Thanks.' I grab my glass of red and move to the other room, closing the door behind me. I place my wine on the side table before sitting so I don't splash on the cream sofa, like I've done before, then slide the call answer icon. ‘Hiya. I'm in wedding hell.'

Jaz grunts. ‘I'm in zone six hell. How the fuck did I end up in Epping last night?'

‘Epping?' I laugh. ‘Hope she was worth it.'

‘Oh, she was,' Jaz purrs. ‘But I won't be trekking all the way out here for visits. My soul mate needs to live in zone one. It's going to take me hours to get home.'

‘It'll take you, like, an hour.'

Jaz groans with the effort of it all. ‘I'm stopping halfway at your ma and da's for an afternoon fry-up and a strong brew. There's no way I'll make it back to Islington on an empty stomach.'

‘Why don't you stop at your own ma and da's for a fry-up?'

‘'Cause your parents have the best black pudding in all of East London.'

This is true. Mum and Dad own and run Stratford Meats, a local butcher that's been in Mum's family since her dad was a child. Customers queue every Saturday morning just for the black pudding.

A sudden craving gnaws at my belly. ‘God, that sounds good.'

‘Oh, come! We'll stuff our faces with greasy food and slob on the couch for the afternoon.'

I consider it, questioning whether it's worth the earache I'll cop from Eva. ‘I'll never hear the end of it if I leave now. Not that what I have to say matters much.'

‘No, because you're just her fucking lapdog.' Jaz's voice rises over the rumble of a train.

‘I'm not totally her lapdog,' I say, fiddling with the stem of my wine glass. ‘I stood up to her this morning. Told her I wasn't coming here today.'

‘And yet, you're there.'

I hear the train doors slide open. ‘She kind of … persuaded me.'

‘How?' Jaz says, and then she laughs. ‘Oh my God. You are like, proper pussy-whipped.'

‘Well, she was naked, and it was in my face. How do you say no to that?'

‘Hmm. True. I know she's your fiancée and all, but she's well fit, so I don't reckon I'd say no in that situation either.'

I laugh. ‘Nice, Jazzy. Glad I can trust my best mate.'

Jaz snorts.

I lower my voice. ‘Seriously, though. I don't think I can do this. Each day my feet get colder. Look what I did last night – I was so close to snogging that woman. Why would I do that?'

‘Don't beat yourself up. You were flirting a bit. Chill, yeah.'

‘Still. It's a sign something's up, innit? I can't work out if it's wedding nerves or the relationship. I'm so confused. Eva's in there talking about top chefs and I'm just like, fuck, what am I doing? It's just … really overwhelming.' My breathing becomes laboured.

‘Jesus, mate, don't hyperventilate. If this is how you feel, then you're going to have to deal with this – and soon.'

‘I do love her, though. Like, I think I do.'

Jaz sighs. ‘Course you do. You have a good life. She's a beautiful woman. And you were good together, for a while. But you're not happy. Look, if you're a spare part there, come and meet me at your parents'. We'll have a nice fry-up. Chill for the afternoon. Go and meet my dad at the King's Arms for a pint when he finishes work. Give yourself some space to think about what you want.'

‘I just feel bad, guilty like. I don't want to hurt her. Her parents have put so much effort into the wedding and I feel like I'll hurt them too.'

‘But this is your problem, Case. You never want to hurt anyone. It's sweet, but you make it worse in the end. You can't get married just because you don't want to hurt her or her parents.'

‘I know, I know.' I press my fingertips to my temple and massage, an attempt to ward off the throb that's intensifying. ‘I'd better go. Oh, before I forget, Leila says hi.'

‘Leila? Who the fuck is Leila? Have I slept with her yet?'

‘I have no idea. She's Eva's friend. Small, long brown hair. Well pretty. She filmed the proposal, and you met at our place again a few weeks back.'

‘Hmm…' She pauses. ‘Ohh. Leila. Amazing boobs.'

‘Erm … I guess. She's quite friendly as well.'

‘Oh yeah, that too. Well, hel-lo, Leila. Tell her I said hi right back.'

I shake my head at her womanising. ‘Later, Jazzy.'

I end the call and take advantage of being alone for a few more minutes. I long to be at my parents' right now, dipping buttery white toast in runny egg yolk and eating greasy bacon and black pudding. Instead, I'm in a multimillion-pound house in South Kensington planning a wedding I don't want to a woman I'm no longer sure I'm in love with. I glance at the artwork over the mantel – a piece from our gallery that I sold to Eva's dad at an exhibition opening. It's an impressionist work in vibrant oils of two lovers kissing on a tree-lined path that he bought because it reminded him of meeting Rosa. Eva was with him that night, bored by the exhibition but interested in me. We swiftly became caught up in each other, our differences drawing us together.

I try to pinpoint the moment the cracks began in our relationship. After that first mini-split, we fell in love all over again. Until we moved in together, maybe even a bit before that, if I'm truly honest with myself. The traits we once found endearing about each other weren't so appealing when they were on constant display. Her bossiness and plummy accent, a turn-on at first, quickly became a turn-off when she started controlling everything in our shared home and began correcting my English.

I look at the lovers in the painting and run my palm over a tattoo on my upper arm. My mind drifts to Berlin and how much a kiss under a tree in that city meant to me, how it's never left me. Maybe Jaz is right – space from Eva might be good. Being in Berlin helped me figure out what to do about Bethany. I grab my phone and tap out a message to Josanne.

Up for Berlin if you still need me to go.

I hesitate a second then hit send.

She replies immediately.

Yes! Thank you.

I drain my glass and head back to the kitchen.

Leila looks up. ‘How's Jasmine?'

I give a bemused smile. ‘Jasmine?'

‘Oh. It's such a pretty name,' Leila says, dipping her head coyly. ‘It suits her better than Jaz.'

My smile broadens. Jazzy will love that comment. ‘She's good. She said to tell you hi.'

Leila's hazel eyes widen. ‘Really? She's part of the wedding party, I take it?'

Before I have a chance to reply, Eva jumps in. ‘You are not getting off with Jaz.'

‘Why not?' Leila asks innocently.

‘Um,' Eva says, ‘because she sleeps with someone different every week.'

‘Not every week,' I say. ‘And she is single, so…'

Eva rolls her eyes. ‘Well, that makes it okay, then.' She jumps up and walks over to me. ‘So, next week, you need to keep every night free. I've already arranged tasting sessions at Margot's restaurant for the main meal, and on Wednesday night a rehearsal dinner.'

I guess we're not discussing the choice of chef. ‘Rehearsal? For what? Eating?'

Eva folds her arms, the familiar scowl forming. ‘We need to get everything right.'

I shake my head. ‘Can't. I'm going away for work.'

She pulls her head back in surprise. ‘Since when?'

I break eye contact. ‘Er … Josanne asked me yesterday, but I didn't … I wasn't sure what was happening. Until now.'

‘She contacted you on a Saturday about a work trip?'

I clear my throat. ‘Yeah.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘Berlin. You know the exhibition I've helped curate for their gallery?'

She nods.

‘Well, I was going to the opening anyway, but they're short-staffed, so they need help to finalise everything.'

‘And it has to be you who goes? You're going to miss your dad's birthday and Carnival?'

‘Dad will understand.'

Eva places her hands on her hips. ‘Josanne knows the wedding is coming up.'

‘She does, but this is my job, Eva.'

She glares at me, but she has no argument for that. ‘Fine. I'll sort the menu myself.'

I grab my bag off the bench. ‘Also, I'm going to head off now.'

Her face darkens. ‘Where are you going? To meet Jaz? She calls and you go running?'

‘I'm going to Mum and Dad's. I haven't seen them for ages and now I won't see Dad for his birthday.'

‘But—'

‘You don't need me here.'

Eva pouts. ‘That's because I was busy organising. I'm finished now and I want to make some content of us doing wedding prep together.'

I shake my head. ‘No way. I draw a line at that.' I give her a quick kiss before she can persuade me to stay. ‘I'll see you later. Nice to see you, Leila,' I add.

I leave the kitchen, head down the long hallway and out the front door, closing it quietly behind me. I gulp in the warm afternoon air, my chest cresting and falling, then text Jaz.

Tell Mum to set a place for me. On my way. And going to Berlin next week.

Jaz's reply is instant.

WTAF!