‘Sorry. Not important. Carry on.’ I took a sip of wine.
‘We bought the house straight away. I liked it here. She didn’t. My career took off. Hers didn’t. She got resentful, bored and finally went back to London.’
‘I find it hard to believe you didn’t follow her.’
He grimaced. ‘Oh, I did. Stalked might be a more appropriate description. But she wasn’t having any of it. And neither was her boyfriend.’
‘Ouch. So, you came back?’
‘I did.’
‘So why had you planned to see her this weekend?’
He topped up our glasses. ‘She emailed me. The day after we met Brenda.’
‘Ah.’ I tried not to let what I was thinking show on my face. What I was thinking was not very nice. Particularly considering it was pretend-Christmas.
‘And, given my career’s currently in the crapper, that solves the jealous and bitter issue.’
‘Your wife was jealous of you?’
‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘She wasn’t perfect. But it was a tough time, moving up here. We barely knew each other, really. No social life, no career. She’s not exactly the Yellow Mickey’s bingo type.’
‘Still though—’
‘No. No still. The only still is that she’s still my wife. We’re still married. I take that seriously. I take the vows I made seriously. If there’s a chance we can make it work, I have to try. This is bigger than my ego or where we live or the mistakes we’ve made. Better or worse. As long as we both shall live. I meant it.’
‘I don’t know a lot about marriage.’ I pulled a face. ‘But for it to work don’tbothparties have to mean it?’
Mack was quiet for a few moments. A wave of grief passed over his face, so raw and desolate my heart ached. ‘She invited me to visit her.’
‘Well.’ I sucked in a deep breath, stuck on a big, cheery fake-Christmas smile and lifted my glass in a toast. ‘To your marriage. Sorry you had to spend today stuck here with me. I really wish you all the best.’
We clinked glasses. ‘Why don’t you give her a call while I clear up?’
And with that, I swiftly scuttled back into the friend zone. And I was not complaining. I didn’t have a lot to compare him to, but Mack was turning out to be an awesome friend.
That evening, having drunk probably more Baileys than was wise, following several hours of films and a nap on the sofa, and Mack’s brief conversation with his wife, my Baileys-soaked brain decided to show Mack the wedding invitation.
It was worth it just to see the haunted creases on his face lift. When he reached the section on guest etiquette, he even laughed. ‘Whoarethese people? Please tell me you aren’t going to this spectacle.’
‘That—’ I pointed to one of the photos of Zara ‘—is my twin sister. Andthat—’ pointing at another photo ‘—is my ex-secret-boyfriend, who was also my boss. So, yeah, I’m going.’ I took another slurp of Baileys. ‘And I told them you’re my plus one.’
‘What?’ Mack gave me a sharp look.
‘Not that I was really going to ask you to come! But Martha Marsh needed a name and I panicked. Because, really, was I going to admit that I didn’t have a date? Particularly given that I’m hardly going to pass by unnoticed, thanks to the whole breaking-the-bride’s-nose-at-the-engagement-party incident. And, like I mentioned before, no friends. So I told her my plus one was Mack Macintyre.’
‘Hang on, let me get this straight. You were in a relationship with your boss, who is now marrying your twin sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you broke her nose.’
‘It was plastic. Less robust than bone.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I need a black-and-white, high-res photo of Mack Macintyre by Wednesday. My plan was to send a random photo off the Internet and then have him suddenly get a horrific stomach bug on the day. But Martha Marsh is already suspicious. I bet she’ll do a search and find out I’ve made the whole thing up.’
