Prologue

PROLOGUE

Jack

There are things I fear in this world. Never being able to afford to buy somewhere to live. Exceptionally large and unpredictable spiders. Undercooking chicken. War. But right now, to that list, I'd like to add wedding seating plans. I don't like how they give you no warning, no chance to prepare. You just walk up to that easel, find your name and sit where you're told. That's when the panic settles in. Who am I sitting next to? Where they've placed me is going to determine how the rest of the night pans out, isn't it? Am I destined for an evening of indigestion and boredom? Have they put me next to the party animal who tops up everyone's glasses and heckles during the speeches? Have they sat me next to Grandma? Will I have to help her put her teeth back in?

‘The Mandalorian,' a voice pipes up next to me. ‘What's a Mandalorian?'

I look round at the woman standing beside me, elegant in a teal jumpsuit, her brown curly hair pinned back loosely, big gold earrings framing her face. She points towards the table nearest the bar with the coolest name on the board. Lucky lady.

‘It's the Star Wars dude. Pedro Pascal. I thought all the ladies loved Pedro Pascal these days?'

Her expression tells me Pedro is not on her radar. ‘I know Harrison Ford?'

‘Yeah, he's a bit like him, but with a big helmet.' For some reason, I think it's a good idea to pull a pose like I'm firing a space pistol. I hope my suit forgives me for that. That might be the lone glass of Prosecco I've had. I didn't have breakfast today. I got up, threw on a suit and grabbed a couple of ginger snaps off a counter, certainly not enough to sustain a full day of drinking in this cool boutique hotel with its courtyard and fancy cocktails.

She looks at me curiously and raises an eyebrow. ‘Gotcha. A big helmet?' she asks, though the blush in her cheeks tells me she immediately regrets that question.

‘It's sizeable,' I explain, breaking into a smile. ‘Very shiny. Not too large. You can't do anything with a large helmet. Very impractical…'

She grins widely, looking grateful that I'm playing along. I take in the angles of her smile, her dimples, the warm vibe about her.

‘This is true.' She stands back as if she's assessing me in my Zara suit. A suit that looked much better on the model online. On me, you sense that if I stood too near an open flame, I'd go up like a roman candle. ‘So, tell me, how do you know the happy couple?' she asks me.

‘I went to uni with Ed. We shared a house at one point. You?'

‘We teach at the same school. I'm Zoe.'

‘Jack,' I reply as she puts her hand out to greet me. Married. Not that I was looking for a ring, but I can't help but see it as she does a very kindly gesture where she places a hand over the handshake. Like a hug shake. Her hands are super soft.

Zoe smiles at me. ‘It was a lovely ceremony, wasn't it? Did you cry? I cried,' she tells me. ‘But then I'm a crier.'

‘I didn't, but it was certainly moving. They're a cute couple. Would you think I was weird if I said I was also particularly keen on her bouquet? It was very en vogue.'

Zoe pauses for a moment, still smiling. ‘It was. So, tell me what else is trending in weddings, Jack?'

‘A sage palette, Asian inspired appetisers and eco-friendly favours,' I say snootily, surprising myself. I really need to review my Netflix viewing habits. I watch far too many people getting married at first sight or saying yes to the dress.

Zoe laughs through her nostrils. ‘You're very funny, Jack. Where are you sitting?' she enquires, scanning the print for my name. ‘Jack…?'

‘Damon,' I inform her.

‘Jack Damon… Jack Damon. No, you're on…' We both squint our eyes, looking at the font of my table name then looking at each other.

‘Fuck…?' I say, biting my lip.

Zoe bursts into laughter, putting a hand to my shoulder. It's nice that she's comfortable with me. I guess she's also had some Prosecco. ‘Was he in Star Wars, too?'

‘It's Puck,' pipes in another lady, joining us, looking resplendent in a floral maxi dress. She reaches over to kiss Zoe on the cheek. ‘The printer did them dirty on the font. She likes Shakespeare, he likes Star Wars. It's their thing… You're not Brian,' she says, pointing at me.

No, I am not.

‘Oh no, this is Jack,' interrupts Zoe. ‘He went to uni with Ed. Jack, this is one of my colleagues, Beth. Brian's away with work so I'm flying solo.'

I earwig, assuming Brian to be the husband.

‘Well, nice to meet you, Jack. I didn't realise Ed had friends. Do you have stories? Do tell.'

‘Oh, I'm letting the best man tell all. He has a great one involving a fan.'

They both narrow their eyes. It's a good story. A tray of drinks does the rounds and we all take a glass.

‘Well, here's to new acquaintances.' Zoe toasts, smiling. ‘And the happy couple.'

We all clink our glasses and look over at the couple in question, Mia and Ed. Who would have thought Ed, king of the geeks, someone who wore old-man Asics at university, would bag himself such a gem? They're not the likeliest of couples, a bit of an opposites attract thing. But both of them beamed through that ceremony, and for both of them to have found that love and eternal friendship in each other is rather excellent. That's all you ever want for your nearest and dearest: happiness.

I turn back to the table plan. ‘So, can you talk me through this table? I don't know any of these people,' I tell them.

Zoe looks at the list and widens her eyes at one of the names, then glances at me. She thinks I didn't notice.

‘I saw that.'

‘Saw what?' she says, taking a long sip from her drink.

Beth purses her lips, trying to keep in her giggles.

‘They've put you with the ladies from the school office,' Zoe says. ‘They are a kind but lively bunch.' She gestures over to a corner of the room where there is a lot of cackling and leopard print. One of them has a fascinator so large I think it could pick up radio signals.

‘Seriously? Ed is one of my oldest friends – where's the camaraderie? Why has he set me up like this? Where are you sitting, Beth?'

‘The Mandalorian,' she says proudly. Zoe high fives her.

‘Why couldn't I be on the cool table?' I moan. ‘You two seem like fun.' They both smile to be labelled as such.

‘He's sat you next to Claudia,' Zoe adds. ‘Maybe the set up was intentional? From what I hear, Claudia is newly single. Are you single?'

‘I am. What's this Claudia like then? Is she nice?' I enquire.

‘She's about your age, I reckon? How old are you?' Zoe asks.

‘That's a very personal question,' I reply, jokingly. ‘But I'm twenty-nine… and a bit. Yourself?'

‘A lady doesn't answer such things,' Zoe jokes and gives me a look. I don't know what that look means. Have I offended her? She looks about mid-thirties, but I won't say that out loud.

‘Well, age is but an arbitrary label that just denotes how many years we've been on the planet, no?'

‘My knees say different,' Zoe retorts, laughing. I look down at her knees and she catches my eye, wondering why I would be looking her up and down. I can do that, no? ‘Claudia, on the other hand, has very youthful knees.'

‘Does she now?' I like the banter here, it's making this interesting. Zoe covers her mouth and places a hand on Beth's shoulder to steady her giggles. ‘And what else do we know about Claudia?' I ask.

‘She and her boyfriend grew apart…' Beth intervenes.

‘How do you…?' Zoe asks.

‘She's a big social media sharer. She also lost a stone eating nothing but carrots.'

‘So she'll be useful later when I'm trying to find my Uber,' I joke.

They both laugh and I grin back, pleased to have brought some comedy to proceedings. They refuse to point her out to me, though. I hope she's not the lady with the giant fascinator. That'll have my eye out.

‘Well, enjoy…' Zoe tells me, resting a hand on my arm. I like her. Why can't I be sitting with her? ‘Come and find us on the dancefloor later?'

‘Or the bar. I will see you at the bar…'

‘Then it's a date,' she says, stopping slightly, hoping that wasn't too forward. It wasn't.

‘I'll hold you to that.'

Zoe

I do like a wedding with entertainment, and nothing is more entertaining than watching people's dancefloor antics. Namely, some handsome young man I met at the table plan on the dancefloor with a group of women all thrusting and jiggling around him. To Funkytown . Poor guy, standing there like a human maypole, holding someone's handbag for them. Someone starts clapping and he's forced to do some sort of running man move. I like how game he is and how he joins in. I hope his suit forgives him for that. The newly single Claudia pats him on the bum and I see him cock his head to one side, his eyes wide like he's past the point of knowing what to do. Like he's in disco prison.

‘Oh god,' Beth laughs, already half a bottle of red in. ‘Should we go and save him?'

‘Feel free. I'm happy observing for now. I hope this makes the wedding video,' I say, sipping at a glass of champagne. Beth is here today with her partner, Will, and I watch as they interlock arms, bopping their heads to the music in the background.

I haven't been to a wedding for a while now. My own feels like a lifetime ago. I wore lace and a tiara, we had lamb shanks as a main and a dancefloor of drunken uncles, one of whom did some breakdance move to Kool he's been in disco captivity for so long and he finally sees a face he vaguely recognises. Claudia is also shaking her ass in ways that make it abundantly clear she's wearing a thong. Jack looks absolutely petrified.

‘Help,' he mouths across the crowded dancefloor.

Oh behave, you're not being held hostage. As I thought, Claudia looks like she could be fun, and her knees seem to be well supporting all that shimmying. Maybe give it a chance. He opens his eyes at me, and I can't help but smirk and side-step over.

‘Having fun?' I say as I approach them.

Claudia returns to a standing position and drapes her arms over Jack's shoulders. ‘Of course, aren't we, Jackers?'

Jack has a nickname. I try not to laugh but just move my arms around like I'm doing a light breaststroke. He joins me, disco swimming through all the awkwardness. Purple disco lights are bouncing off his dirty blond hair; his green tie is slightly undone. There is something about him. I can't put my finger on it. He's classically handsome, a smile that sits between cheeky and intriguing, well-built, intensely blue eyes but at the same time something just clicks, and that surprises something in the recesses of my soul, which thought that impossible these days. He looks at me and puts his fingers to his mouth asking if I'd like a smoke. But I don't smoke. He's asking the wrong person. He widens his eyes at me again. Or… Oh. I nod.

‘Claudia?' he says.

‘Oh, I don't smoke. Awful habit. You two crack on… But make sure you come back, Jackers!'

I secretly smile at the relief registered on Jack's face as he turns away from her and takes my arm.

‘Is she still looking?'

‘Yes,' I tell him, glancing back at her face. ‘But at your arse. Just keep walking, give her something to look at…'

He laughs, leading me away from the dancefloor and I grab my clutch as we pass my chair. We head out to a small courtyard outside the dining room of this city hotel, the early summer air cooling down slightly. It homes all the smokers, the vapers and a couple hidden in the ivy who appear to be snogging quite messily thinking no one can see them.

‘I don't smoke, by the way,' Jack tells me.

‘Yeah, I half guessed that. Jackers.'

‘Rhymes with crackers…'

‘And knackers…' I say, laughing, as we perch on a wall, surrounded by fairy lights. ‘What do we do if she comes out here looking for you?'

‘Then I'm prepared to go up to that man there, ask him for a cigarette and actually start smoking for the evening,' he tells me as I giggle in reply. ‘Thank you for the save, Zoe.'

Given he's a tad merry, it's nice that he's remembered my name. ‘You're welcome. I'm missing one of the only songs I actually wanted to dance to tonight, though.'

‘Groove Armada. Classic. I'm sorry.'

I smile. He knows the song. Most people know the song, but his age makes me assume that he wouldn't. Like when I have to tell my children who Madonna is, and I feel like I've failed them in their pop cultural education. She was ICONIC, kids. She wore pointy bras! She danced with Jesus!

‘Well, you explained to me what a Mandarin is so we're even.'

He smirks. ‘You mean a Mandalorian.'

I click my fingers. ‘Yes, that. Actually, I am sure my son watched that.'

‘How old is your son?'

‘Fifteen.'

He recoils in surprise. ‘Crumbs, you don't look old enough.'

I laugh. I don't know why. Maybe because that was a compliment and you get to a point where you don't really hear those too often. I don't know whether to thank him, but there is something in his face that makes him look worried he's overstepped.

‘Was that cheesy?'

‘Kinda, but nice to hear. I think. Thank you…' I say, clutching my hand to my chest. ‘I think we peaked earlier on with the helmet chat though.'

His laughing is a relief to me. He's easy company but I don't know how to say that without sounding weird.

‘You asked before, but I turned forty-three in March,' I say, unsure why I feel the need to tell him this.

‘Pisces?' he asks.

‘Yes – you don't believe in all of that, do you?'

‘I only say that because I'm a Pisces, too.' He holds his hand out for me to high-five it. I guess we are now bonded by astrology. ‘Did you know that fish don't have eyelids?'

I cock my head to the side, chuckling. ‘Is this your regular chat-up line? Did you use that on Claudia?'

‘I'm not chatting you up,' he says, shocked. ‘I'm conversing with an attractive woman about fish,' he adds, his nostrils flaring. I'll forget he called me attractive and that my cheeks are ablaze.

‘I didn't know that fact, Jack. Then how do fish wink and flirt with other fish?'

‘I don't know, Zoe. I will put in a call to David Attenborough about that.'

Handsome and funny. Twenty years ago, that would have been a dangerous combination. I don't really understand this pseudo-flirting that's happening here so I'm glad that my phone ringing interrupts the conversation. I look down to see it's Lottie. ‘Excuse me, duty calls, I also have a daughter.'

He nods politely, putting his hands in his pockets whilst looking up at the sky and surrounding buildings. I like how his eyes are looking out for something.

‘Lottie? All good?' I hear a light sobbing on the phone and my hackles immediately go up. ‘Lottie, are you alright?'

‘When are you coming home?' she asks tearfully.

‘I can come home now if something is wrong.' Lottie's crying can be about a number of things, anything from a celebrity couple calling it quits to her fighting over bathroom space with her brother, but I can hear Dylan's low monosyllables in the background. Something's not right. ‘You're both safe, yes? Tell me you're safe. No one's broken into the house or hurt you? You're worrying me.'

My volume raises slightly, and Jack stands up, hearing my change in tone, concern etched in his face.

‘We're both OK. No one's broken in. It's just…' She breaks into a sob again. ‘You told us Dad was away.'

‘He's at a conference in Glasgow. He'll be back in two days. Is your dad OK? Did he call?'

‘Then why did Melissa from my class see him in a restaurant in Richmond?' she blurts out.

‘Why are you telling her on the phone, Lottie?' I hear Dylan tell her in the background.

‘Who's Melissa? Maybe it was someone else. Your dad looks like a lot of people. People always says he looks like Gareth Southgate,' I try and joke.

‘I HATE HIM!' she screams down the phone.

‘Lottie, calm down! Is this Melissa trying to shit stir? Who is this girl? Your dad is in Glasgow, I spoke to him earlier today.'

‘He's not in Glasgow,' she whispers quietly.

And for a moment, I can't quite breathe. Something in my chest just ceases to move, to work, to beat. ‘Lottie…'

‘She sent me a picture.'

‘A picture? Of your dad?'

‘Yes.'

‘Send me the picture,' I say, my voice shaking, trying to remain calm. Brian is in Glasgow. I'm certain of it.

‘Lottie, you can't send her that. Lottie, please…' I hear Dylan crying. To hear him expressing that emotion kills me. And for a moment, I think about both my children, my babies at home, who've been fed some awful misinformation about the two people they're supposed to love the most in the world and how they're dealing with this together, on their own. My phone pings and I open the picture, staring at it for a moment.

‘Mum? MUM?' Lottie shrieks down the phone. I don't answer. I feel a hand prise the phone out of my hand and my arm falls numb to my side.

‘Hi, Lottie. My name is Jack and I was sitting with your mum at this wedding. I am going to grab an Uber and get her home to you, right away. Can you tell me your address?'

I hear Lottie's distraught voice on the phone, Jack trying to calm her down, repeating the address back to her.

‘Yeah, leave it with me. You kids take care, OK? I've got her.' He hangs up the phone and looks over at me, his brow furrowed, his blue eyes staring into mine, searching for signs of life. ‘Zoe? Are you OK?'

I can't quite get the words out. They're stuck deep inside, my face frozen in shock. There's emotion that's aching to come out, but… I can't. I just can't.

‘Was that your husband in the photo?'

I nod.

He looks down to the floor, as if he doesn't quite know what to do. ‘Are you sure?'

I nod again. ‘I know because the woman he was with… I know her, too.'