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  “Point taken.” He took a mouthful of wine. “OK, I was clearly wide of the mark by assuming you’re marrying for money, so why, then?”

  She sighed impatiently. “As I said, call me old-fashioned, but I love him.”

  “No. That’s not it.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Maybe you just love the idea of getting married and any old bloke will do.” He stopped and fiddled with his plain silver cufflink. “Something like that, anyway.”

  “Utter bollocks,” she said.

  “Oh, very ladylike.” Tony looked at his watch, a sixties-style Tag Heuer as favored by Steve McQueen. “Look, I’m sure you’re a lovely girl and all that, and one day you’ll make someone very happy . . .” he scratched the side of his face “. . . but it’s not going to be my brother. This has got disaster written all over it.”

  Faye nodded dramatically, as if she’d just cracked the Enigma code. “I get it. All this talk of status and money, it’s got nothing to do with whether Mark and I are suited, it’s just that you don’t think I’m good enough to join your precious family.”

  He frowned. “No, on the contrary, it’s almost worth the marriage just to see you deal with Mother. I suspect she’s finally met her match.” He paused. “No, you’re just not in love with Mark, simple as that. If you were, you’d never have taken me home with you. Marry him and you’ll ruin his life . . . for a few years anyway. Not to mention your own.”

  “What are you? A Grim-Reaper-o-gram?”

  Tony laughed reluctantly.

  They sat looking across the room to where the other guests were still drinking and chatting. Then Faye said, “Tony, I understand your reservations, truly I do . . . but I love Mark and I promise I’ll make him happy.”

  “I suggest you think very carefully about what I’ve said. Sleep on it, even. Forget the expense, there’ll be a lot less long-term damage if you pull out now.”

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  A flash of annoyance crossed his face, but he rapidly composed himself. “In that case, I have to warn you that my objection to this marriage will go up a gear tomorrow. I’m not going to stand idly by and watch my brother marry a woman who couldn’t even get to the wedding day before being unfaithful.”

  Tears welled in Faye’s eyes. He was frightening her. “Why do you hate me so much?” she whispered.

  “I don’t,” he said emphatically. “On the contrary, I find you fascinating and really quite likeable, despite all that’s happened.”

  “Yet you still want to destroy me?”

  He stood up, smoothed down his jacket. “It’s nothing personal, Faye, just a case of those living by the sword getting wounded by those who don’t. It’s purely based on your unsuitability for my brother. Now . . . we really must get back to the throng or they’ll wonder what’s going on.”

  He started to walk away, then looked back over his shoulder. “Believe me, you’ll eventually be thankful you didn’t go through with it.”

  Mark and Brian’s rented flat was above a post office in Croydon, with triple-glazing to block out the constant hum of traffic on the main road outside.

  The dark, narrow staircase led into their regrettably dark, narrow living quarters, the windows covered in the grime of constant exhaust emissions. They had made a few attempts to brighten the place up, with an Ikea psychedelic lampshade here, a few brightly colored cushions there, and some posters that marked the new millennium they’d celebrated just eight months earlier, but it still felt stuffy and somber.

  In the two years they’d lived there, they had rapidly established a routine of eating endless curries, watching football, and talking bollocks long into the night.

  With Mark working all hours in the restaurant and Brian coming home with piles of paperwork on humdrum cases no one else wanted, neither of them had much of a social life, but they didn’t care. Money was tight and they had each other to talk to if they wanted company. If they didn’t, they retired to their rooms and did their own thing.

  Recently Mark had “enjoyed” a one-night stand with a waitress who worked at the restaurant, but Brian’s sex life remained woefully nonexistent.

  “I regard my sex life much like a game of bridge,” he said to Mark one night. “I may not have a good partner, but I’ve got a very strong hand.”

  One August night, forty minutes after he had ventured out to get take-out, Mark barged through the front door with a greasy brown-paper bag in his hand.

  Brian was in his customary horizontal position in front of the television, watching some trendy discussion show for which the producers had evidently forgotten to book anyone with an opinion. He didn’t even bother to look up.

  “I’ve just met the woman I’m going to marry,” said Mark, placing the bag on the floor. He went into the kitchen to get forks and plates, and returned a few seconds later.

  Flicking through the TV channels, Brian attempted to sit up. “Sorry, mate,” he yawned, “I could have sworn you just said something about marriage.”

  “That’s because I did.” Mark flicked the top of a Red Stripe lager and passed it to him.

  Now Brian was wide awake. “Hello? You only went to get take-out and you’ve come back with a wife?” Mark had never expressed such named emotion during his four years with Kate.

  “I’m serious,” Mark said “I’m not letting this one go. She’s a really striking blonde. I’ve got her phone number and I’m taking her out for a drink next week.”

  Brian, somewhat stunned, fell silent. Then he said. “So hang on, let’s rewind. She was in the takeout place?”

  “Nope.” He took a swig of his drink. “The food was going to take twenty minutes, so I popped into Jay’s wine bar. She was in there.”

  “And in just twenty minutes, you, Mr. Two Left Feet, managed to chat up what I presume is a gorgeous blonde?”

  “She’s amazingly beautiful,” said Mark dreamily.

  “So, forgive me, dear friend, but what on earth does she see in you?”

  “I don’t know, but she was standing at the bar on her own when I walked in, and it seemed like fate.”

  Brian pretended to vomit. “Are you sure she’s not a hooker and you’re not going to find yourself with a bill for dinner plus extras?”

  Mark rolled his eyes. “When did you become so cynical about love?”

  Brian took a bite of his Peshwari naan. “Around the same time I found out that that girl in Liberty’s nightclub had a penis.”

  Mark laughed. “God, yes. I’d forgotten that. Well, I can assure you she doesn’t have a penis and she’s not a hooker. She was waiting for her friend.”

  “And in the meantime she just happened to slip you her number?”

  “No, I asked her for it. I figured I had nothing to lose. She could only say no.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  “No.” Mark held up a piece of paper he’d dug out of his jeans pocket. “Faye Parker,” he said. “It looks from the code that she lives in town.”

  Brian might well have been half joking, but Mark had to admit to himself that he, too, hadn’t been able to believe that such an attractive woman could be interested in him. Faye was in another league. She had sandy blond hair, feathered around her face, a smattering of freckles, and sage-green eyes. The overall effect was Californian and, more important to the gender led by its groin, very sexy.

  Mark had spotted her the minute he walked into Jay’s. She had been sitting on a high stool, trying to turn the page of a broadsheet newspaper with a giant antitheft pole attached.

  “Nightmare, aren’t they?” he had said, and smoothed the page for her.

  “I’ll say. I don’t know why they bother with them,” she said, using her elbow to press it down.

  Mark was pleased that she’d stopped reading and was looking straight at him. “Can I get you a drink?” He couldn’t believe he’d come out with it so casually.

  She was still gazing at him. “Thanks,” she said slowly. “White wine spritzer, please.”

/>   Mark caught the sullen barman’s eye and ordered the spritzer with a beer for himself.

  “What kind?” said Laughing Boy.

  Mark turned to her. “Um, any preference about the wine?”

  “The wine’s house,” said the barman, in a bored monotone. “I meant what kind of beer?”

  “What is there?” Mark looked around for beer taps, but there weren’t any.

  With a sigh of such force that Mark felt the man’s breath on his face, the barman raised his arm to a blackboard above his head. “Becks, Michelob, Sapporo, Miller Lite, Budweiser . . .”

  “Bud’s fine, thanks,” said Mark, flashing an uneasy smile at Faye.

  “Normal or Czechoslovakian?”

  “He’ll have normal.” It was her. “And as your delivery has been so utterly charming, there won’t be a tip with it.”

  As the barman crashed noisily around getting their drinks, she made the wanker sign behind his back. “I don’t know why such grumpy people are drawn to jobs that require them to deal with the general public,” she said.

  “Maybe they weren’t grumpy at first, and dealing with the public made them that way. I’m Mark, by the way.”

  Their drinks were plunked angrily in front of them and she chinked her glass against Mark’s bottle. “Cheers. I’m Faye.”

  “So, Faye, of all the bars in all the world, what brought you to mine?” Mark winced inwardly at the corniness of his remark, but she didn’t seem bothered by it.

  “I’m supposed to be meeting someone for a drink, but even though he’s been working just round the corner all day he’s late.”

  Mark’s spirits fell, but it was as if she’d read his mind. “He’s gay, and it always takes him forever to get ready. His bathroom looks like a Clarins showroom,” she said, and sipped her drink.

  Gay. That’s good, thought Mark, whose spirits and another part of him rose slightly. He was still in with a chance, although it was a faint one because time was short. He decided to be bold. “Look, I only popped in for a quick drink while they were getting my takeout ready next door. I’d abandon it, but I have a pathetic flatmate who’d shrivel and die in his armchair if I didn’t turn up to feed and water him from time to time . . . I was wondering . . .”

  “You go,” she interrupted. “It’s been lovely to meet you, and thanks again for the drink.”

  Mark stood rooted to the spot, struck dumb by indecision. He wanted to ask her out, but knew this wasn’t the school disco or a university bar. This was a frighteningly sophisticated woman who might throw back her head and laugh at his suggestion of a date.

  The rules of modern dating were confusing to even the most experienced men. To Mark and Brian, or Tweedledum and Tweedledumber as Kate had nicknamed them, modern London women were a minefield. On the other hand, he thought, she might just say yes. Either way, he had nothing to lose but his pride, and that had always been of microscopic proportions anyway.

  “As I was saying,” he continued, “I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a drink . . . other than the one we’ve just had.”

  There, he’d said it. Now he felt both expectant and exposed.

  She took another sip of her spritzer. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  Mark’s stomach churned with childish delight and a broad grin spread across his face.

  “Great!” He took a pen from his inside pocket and handed it to her, then glanced up to check Mr. Happy wasn’t watching as he tore off a corner piece of the newspaper. “I’ll give you a call.”

  Friday, June 28

  11:25 p.m.

  Mark looked across the room and saw Faye and Tony sitting together, deep in conversation. Their expressions seemed friendly enough and he studied his bride-to-be for a few moments as she chatted to his brother.

  There was a wall light directly above her head, illuminating her blond hair so that it looked like a halo. Her slim arms were faintly tanned, and she was wrinkling her freckled nose at something Tony was saying. God, she’s beautiful, thought Mark.

  “Penny for them?” It was Jenna.

  “Not very interesting, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “I was just feeling thankful that Faye and Tony seem to be getting on now.” He indicated where they were sitting. “They didn’t get off to a very good start.”

  Jenna followed his gaze. “There seemed to be a lot of tension between them at dinner,” she said. “Has that happened before?”

  “This weekend is the first time they’ve met.”

  “Really?” She looked surprised. “I assumed he’d taken a dislike to her at earlier meetings.”

  “Nope,” said Mark, thoughtful. “But I’m not sure it’s dislike. I think they’re just two strong characters battling for supremacy.”

  “Blimey.” Jenna giggled. “It sounds like Star Wars.” She held out her hand and rotated it as if she was brandishing a light saber. “May the force be with you.”

  Mark noted that she was drunk, but not incoherently so. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was falling around her face. Dishevelment suited her.

  “He can be quite intimidating, though,” she said.

  “Who?” Mark had lost the plot.

  “Tony.”

  “Can he?” Mark was puzzled. “Did you ever feel that?”

  Jenna’s brows knitted; clearly she was waiting for her fuddled brain to absorb the question and come up with an answer. “No.” She shook her head. “Because we were both so young, I don’t think he took either of us terribly seriously. But there’s no doubt he still intimidates you. I watched you with him earlier.”

  Mark resisted the urge to look surprised at Jenna’s transformation into someone who spoke her mind. “I wouldn’t say he intimidates me,” he said, “but I do care about what he thinks.”

  “So what does he think about all this?” she said, making a sweeping gesture with her arm.

  Mark looked at the new, forthright Jenna curiously. “I think he probably disapproves of me marrying Faye, although I’m not sure why. I suspect he thinks we’re not suited.”

  She said nothing.

  “I take your silence to mean he has a point.” Mark’s voice had a slight edge. “And what, in the eyes of Jenna, Tony, and anyone else who cares to air an opinion, makes us unsuited?”

  Jenna’s face crumpled, her newfound confidence short-lived. “I’m so sorry. You’re absolutely right, it’s none of my business. You should marry whomever you want to marry.”

  Mark’s expression softened. “No, I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s just that Tony’s disapproval has got to me.”

  “Tony isn’t everyone,” said Jenna.

  “It’s not just him. Brian reckons we’re not suited and, judging from what you’ve just said, so do you too. That’s three people before I’ve even asked anyone else’s opinion.”

  She patted his hand. “It’s your life and I don’t even know her, so who am I to judge? Ignore me, I’ve had a bit too much to drink anyway.”

  “I like you even more when you’re pissed.” He ruffled her hair. “Alcohol gets rid of your inhibitions.” He caught the arm of a passing waiter and asked him to fill their glasses. “Anyway, how’s life with you?”

  It had been several months since Mark had seen Jenna, but they had spoken on the phone once or twice.

  “How’s life with me?” she repeated. “Well, pretty much the same, really. I split up from that mechanic I was seeing.”

  “Dave, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m amazed you remember his name.”

  “Well, all I can say is, I hope you got your car fixed before you ended it.”

  “No, sadly the relationship went wrong first, then the car a few days later. I thought about trying to patch things up, but decided it would be a bit transparent!”

  They were silent until Mark coughed nervously. “By the way, I’m not sure I ever apologized to you.”

  “For what?” she asked uncomfortably, staring at her feet.
/>
  “The way I ended our relationship.”

  “Funny, I could have sworn I ended it.” The way she spoke suggested that they both knew the truth.

  “I was cowardly,” continued Mark. “I should have talked to you about it, but instead I withdrew and hoped you’d notice something was wrong.”

  Jenna took a sip of wine. “Hey, no big deal. Maybe we’d do things differently in retrospect, but we were both pretty young. You do whatever you feel is right at the time.”

  “That’s no excuse for bad behavior.”

  “You sound like your mother.”

  “Oh, God.” He groaned. “You know how to wound a man.”

  She placed a hand on his forearm. “If you really want to know, I was devastated for a while, but I’m fine now.” She brightened. “More importantly, I’m thrilled to bits that you’ve found someone you want to share the rest of your life with. Truly I am.”

  Mark studied her face for some indication that she meant what she had said. Her expression suggested she did, and he knew from the past that she wasn’t one to say something for effect. “Thanks,” he whispered.

  “Now let’s stop talking about the past. You’re getting married tomorrow.” She said it with the false cheeriness of someone telling you that you’d only lost one of your legs after the accident, not both.

  They surveyed the cast of characters before them for a while. Eventually Mark turned back to her. “Do you truly think I’m doing the right thing?”

  A small muscle twitched in Jenna’s cheek. “In getting married or in marrying Faye?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  “I don’t think I’m the right person to answer that question.” Her face was impassive.

  He straightened his back and took a deep breath. He was suddenly determined to gain Jenna’s perspective on the marriage. “You’ve known me longer than pretty much anyone else, so I reckon you’re the perfect person to answer it.”

  “OK, let me rephrase it,” she said, her voice low and deliberate. “I don’t think it’s fair of you to ask me that question.”

  He saw suddenly that there were tears in her eyes.