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  “Hi, darling!” Mark plonked himself in the chair opposite and leaned across to give her a kiss. “Sorry I’m a tad late, I got talking to Brian.”

  “Really? You surprise me. His conversations rarely last more than a couple of words.”

  Mark gave her a wry grin, but said nothing. Faye knew that occasionally her and Brian’s spikiness with each other irritated him, but that most of the time he found it amusing.

  For the next couple of hours, they caught up on the time they’d spent apart. Faye filled him in on her assignment in Spain, and he brought her up to date on the tiresome restaurant politics that meant he might have to look for another job. He said he felt he was spending too much of his time watching his back and not enough doing the job he loved: cooking. He was also weary of the endless problems caused by the meat or fish man not turning up, staff sickness disrupting the rosters, and François nagging him about the poor number of table bookings midweek.

  Halfway down the second bottle of wine, they were both up to date on each other’s lives, fleshing out the bones of the many phone conversations they’d shared as a substitute for seeing each other.

  When a natural lull came in the conversation, Mark leaned across the table and took her hand. “Darling, I just want to say that, despite all the problems at work, my life is the best it’s ever been. And that’s because of you.”

  Faye thought she might cry. “I feel the same way,” she said quietly, feeling the effects of alcohol wash over her.

  “Good. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me, it’s frightening sometimes. You excite me, you make me laugh and, of course, I fancy you like mad.” He muttered the last bit under his breath.

  “But we have our moments, don’t we?” Her face was serious. “Mark, I’m so sorry about what happened at the party. I don’t know what came over me.”

  He made a pooh-poohing noise. “Forget it. To be honest, I was rather flattered that you got jealous. I would probably have felt the same way if the tables were turned.”

  Part of Faye wished he would just say, “Yes, you behaved like a spoiled brat,” but she knew it wasn’t in his nature.

  He leaned closer, clutching her hand more tightly. His other hand was rummaging in his trouser pocket and he pulled out a small box, placing it on the table. As her brain computed what it might be, her stomach turned over. Whether it was through anxiety or pleasure, she was unsure. He stood up, still holding her hand, and moved to the side of the table, where he fell on to one knee.

  “Faye darling, I know we’ve only been seeing each other for eight months, but people always say that you know when you’ve met the right person. And I know.” He stared at the floor. Then he looked up at her. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Faye let out a nervous splutter and looked over his shoulder at the other diners, who were all looking at them with smiles on their faces.

  Mark’s proposal had come out of the blue, and she felt under immense pressure to answer immediately. She would have liked time to weigh it up and give him a considered answer. But with an expectant crowd staring at her, time was not on her side.

  “What do you think, darling?” Mark’s eyes pleaded with her to rescue him from the embarrassment of kneeling in front of her.

  Faye felt a chemical rush of compassion. She was sure she loved Mark, and she knew he would never hurt her, so why not? After all, it wasn’t as if he’d sprung the actual ceremony on her. She could always change her mind at a later date. Nothing was carved in stone.

  “Of course I’ll marry you, darling.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms round his neck, closing her eyes momentarily, and she opened them to see the other customers start clapping.

  Mark gestured to the maître d’ who ducked behind a screen and emerged carrying a bottle of champagne on ice. He placed it on their table and started to wrestle with the cork. “Madam, congratulations. We’re all thrilled for you both.” He beamed and gestured towards the other staff, some of whom had come from the kitchen for a peep at the happy couple.

  “Thanks.” Faye gave him a grin. She felt radiant now, glowing in the warmth of being loved so much. Now that she’d agreed to get married, it suddenly felt right.

  “To us.” Mark clinked his champagne glass against hers. “I’m so delighted you said yes. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  She raised her eyebrows, her eyes dancing at the thrill of the proposal. “It’s a very public place to take such a risk.”

  He took a sip of his champagne. “I know. But I pulled it off, didn’t I?”

  Saturday, June 29

  12:30 a.m.

  Adam was bored. Either this wedding party had to liven up, or he was off to bed to watch the ubiquitous late-night TV movie that involved no plot, unknown actors, and lots of car chases. Leaning against the fireplace, watching the few people left in the library, a smile crept across his face as an entertaining thought crossed his mind. Clapping his hands, he walked unsteadily towards the others. “Come on everyone, round here.” He gestured towards the two large sofas positioned in the center of the room, and plonked himself haphazardly into the middle of one. “Let’s play a game!” he suggested, as everyone gathered round him.

  “What kind of game?” Faye asked suspiciously. “I don’t see Monopoly round here.”

  “Truth or Dare, Consequences—whatever you choose to call it,” he said. “It will give us all a chance to get to know each other better.” He avoided Faye’s furious eyes and looked at the others, trying to canvass support.

  “Absolutely not.” Faye’s voice was firm as she scanned the remaining guests. “It’s a ridiculous suggestion.” The evening had reached the point at which everyone had drunk too much and she was anxious to see it end.

  “No, it isn’t. It’s a great idea.” Tony pulled a chair over to join them. “We could do with livening things up a bit. So far, this evening has made a game of chess look animated.”

  “Well, I’m off to bed,” said Faye, and stood up.

  Tony caught her arm. “No, you’re not,” he said, in a low voice. “As hostess, you should stay and do as your guests wish, not flounce off like a small child who hasn’t got her own way.”

  Shocked into submission, Faye sat down next to Adam. She thought about defying Tony and going to bed anyway, but couldn’t muster the strength.

  Adam patted the empty sofa cushion on the other side of him. “If any of you haven’t got anything nice to say, then come and sit next to me!” he joked.

  Auntie Ethel lumbered over, turned her back to the sofa, and launched herself into the space. She was the only member of the older generation to last into the early hours: all the others had slunk off to bed.

  “Right!” Adam loved games and was beaming with the thrill of anticipation. “For anyone who doesn’t know how to play, we spin this empty wine bottle on the table, and whoever the neck points to has to choose a truth or a dare from the person the bottom end points to. Here goes!”

  As the bottle clattered on the wooden surface, everyone leaned forward expectantly. All eyes were on it.

  Nat and McLaren were sitting on one sofa alongside Jenna, with Mark on the floor in front of them. Kate and Rich perched on each arm, and Tony sat on a chair to the side. On the other sofa there were Adam, Faye, and Auntie Ethel, with Ted and Brian squatting nearby. With the exception of Faye and Auntie Ethel, everyone was looking the worse for wear, giggling and nudging each other like small children.

  The bottle came to a stop with its neck pointing directly at Rich. The bottom was facing Adam. “Oooh,” he shrieked. “Troof or dare?”

  “Definitely truth. I don’t fancy running around the hotel with my pants on my head,” Rich said nervously.

  “Hmmm, let’s see.” Adam pressed a finger to his lips and looked up at the ceiling. “OK, I’ve got it!” He bounced up and down on the sofa. “Have you ever broken the law?”

  “Ooh, that’s a good one!” Auntie Ethel clapped her hands.

  “Um .
. .” Rich was clearly stalling for time. “Well, as a policeman, I have to say that I now embrace a blameless life, but when I was a teenager, I stole a pack of cigarettes from my local newsstand.”

  This dull revelation was greeted with disappointment, but Rich seemed relieved to get his turn over and done with.

  “Right.” Adam was clearly anxious to move the game on to more interesting confessions. “Rich, it’s your turn to spin.”

  Rich gave the bottle a firm twist. It moved sideways slightly, then stopped in front of McLaren, who giggled hysterically. The end was pointing at Faye. “Truth or dare, McLaren?” she said, her eyes shining at the prospect.

  “Truth.”

  Faye gave the matter some thought. “How long was it before you slept with Nat?”

  Jenna let out a drunken snort, and even Mark looked surprised. He took several glugs of his white wine.

  Faye regretted asking it and waved her hand in the air. “Sorry, forget I said that. I was just trying to be outrageous. I’ll think of something else.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not shy,” said McLaren. She looked at Nat. “Shall I tell them?”

  He nodded.

  “Half an hour!” she blurted out, her face turning crimson at the memory.

  Adam clapped, then burst out laughing so hard he was bent double with his head between his knees. The others tittered nervously at first, then dissolved into drunken hysterics.

  Nat rose unsteadily to his feet and punched the air. “I’m irresistible,” he cried, and fell back on to the sofa.

  Faye was increasingly drawn to McLaren’s self-deprecation, and smiled at her. “Half an hour?” she said. “Where were you?”

  “At a party.” McLaren jerked her head at Nat and gave them all a naughty grin. “He dragged me into the bathroom for a quickie.”

  “Sounds familiar.” It was Tony, deadpan. He was looking straight at Faye. She knew he was referring to her and Nat in the locker room, and her neck burned. She was pleased to see that no one had spotted it.

  “Not that I was complaining, mind you,” continued McLaren, holding her glass to her lips with one hand and spinning the bottle with the other.

  This time it stopped at Faye, with Kate as the challenger. Mark had turned slightly green, whether from too much alcohol or because of what might be asked was unclear. Everyone stared at Faye.

  “Dare,” she said: she’d rather run round the room naked than give Kate the pleasure of asking her a personal question.

  Kate gazed into space, deep in thought, then faced Faye. “Call the wedding off,” she said.

  Her remark hung in the air and the room was deadly quiet. Adam had gasped and flung his hand over his mouth, while Mark sat frozen, as if he’d been shot.

  “Only joking!” laughed Kate. “I wish I’d had a camera to record the look on your faces, though.”

  Everyone let out a collective giggle of relief, and Mark took several more mouthfuls of white wine. Even Faye managed to smile at Kate’s mischievous remark.

  “Stand up and sing ‘The Funky Chicken,’ ” said Kate, looking straight at her.

  Faye rose to her feet, vowing silently that she would get her own back on Mark’s infuriatingly smug ex-girlfriend. Horribly self-conscious, she started to sing the naff lyrics.

  “And the motions,” Kate interrupted. She moved her elbows up and down to demonstrate.

  As she stood there, bent arms flapping at her sides and everyone laughing at her, Faye wanted to curl up in a corner and cover her head. She could pout for a camera, but performing in public made her feel awkward and humiliated.

  After one verse, she said, “That’s it, no more,” and sat down. Through the general murmur of “well done” and “priceless,” she could hear a slow handclap. She looked up and Tony’s eyes were on hers, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. At that moment, her hatred for him was absolute.

  Half an hour later, Ted had been made to ask the front desk for condoms. Jenna had performed the dance of the seven veils with cushions, Brian had said the alphabet backwards, and Nat had revealed that he lost his virginity at thirteen to a seventeen-year-old babysitter. To everyone’s delight, Auntie Ethel had chosen “dare” and performed her legendary “Cocaine Song.” Only Adam had remained untouched by the curse of the bottle. It was now one-thirty and most of them were slurring badly.

  “One more, then ish time for bed,” said Brian, draining the last of his wine. “As best man, ish my duty to make sure the groom and I don’t feel like shit on his wedding day . . .” He glanced at Mark, whose eyes were going in different directions. “Although I think it may be a little late for that.” He gestured at Nat to spin the bottle.

  Faye went cold. The neck was pointing at her and the end at Tony, who had now swapped places with Kate and was sitting on the sofa. She could have sworn his face lit up. Wary of another funky-chicken episode, she didn’t think before answering. “Truth,” she said quickly, her face impassive.

  Tony looked at her thoughtfully, then at his brother, who was now slumped against the arm of the sofa with his eyes closed. The way his head was lolling suggested he was out for the count.

  “Have you ever been unfaithful to Mark?” he asked, in a clear and precise voice that indicated he hadn’t been drinking as much as everyone else.

  The explosive nature of the question even caused reverberations in Mark’s fuddled brain. He opened his eyes and attempted to sit up. Brow furrowed and blinking rapidly, he tried his best to focus on his bride-to-be.

  “Of course not,” snapped Faye. She prayed Tony wasn’t going to choose this moment to reveal their secret.

  “Glad to hear it,” he said quietly.

  Numbed by alcohol, Mark was clearly on a several-second delay. He suddenly sprang to his unsteady feet. “Tony, that’s a terrible question to ask on the night before our wedding.” His fists were clenched at his sides. “Take it back! You are totally out of order.”

  The room was silent, everyone motionless as they watched for Tony’s reaction. He stared straight at Mark, clearly mulling over what he’d said, then raised his arms slowly into the air as a gesture of surrender. “OK, OK, as you wish.” He looked at Faye, his eyes dead. “Ignore what I said.”

  Faye was relieved that the tense moment had passed. Their childish, drunken game had taken a dangerous turn and she just wanted to go to bed and get some much-needed sleep—otherwise she’d be getting married with black bags under her eyes. But the drama wasn’t over.

  “And apologize,” slurred Mark, putting out his hand to steady himself on the arm of the sofa.

  “What?” Tony looked at him with disbelief, then irritation. “Leave it, Mark.”

  “No. Apologize to Faye,” Mark repeated. “This is our wedding weekend and you can’t ask her something like that. I won’t allow it.”

  “Mark, it’s OK . . . really,” urged Faye.

  Tony stared at the carpet, his hands on his knees. After a few seconds, he stood up. “I apologize,” he said stiffly.

  “That’s OK,” she mumbled.

  “And now,” Tony continued, “if you’ll all forgive me, I’m off to bed. I think the evening has reached its natural conclusion.” With a nod, he turned on his heel and left the room.

  There was a stunned silence. Then Nat got to his feet. “Well, I must congratulate you two on the most entertaining night I’ve had in ages. If the wedding itself is half as good, then I can’t wait. Come on, love.” He grabbed McLaren’s hand and pulled her up. “Let’s go to bed.”

  “Night, all,” tittered McLaren, carrying her bright yellow stilettos in her hand. “See you tomorrow.”

  After they’d left, the room was silent again. Mark had slumped back on the sofa and it was Faye’s turn to stare at the carpet.

  Brian coughed. “Right, I’m off too. It’s going to be a long old day tomorrow.” He offered Auntie Ethel his arm and helped her up. Frank, Ted, Kate, and Jenna all got up, too, and muttered, “Goodnight.”

  Brian took
a couple of paces towards the door, then stopped and turned to point at Mark. “He should go to bed.” He looked at Faye. “Do you want me to take him?”

  “No, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll bring him up in a minute.”

  Then she and Mark were alone, a mass of empty wineglasses scattered around them, the truth or dare bottle on its side on the floor. Faye glanced at her husband-to-be, lolling on the sofa, his eyes glazed. Suddenly she felt depressed. For weeks, she had been planning this wedding weekend down to the last detail. She’d chosen the flowers, the linen, the menu, even the type and color of the name cards. Now her perfect day was in danger of being ruined by her own stupid, irrational behavior with a complete stranger who had turned out to be her future husband’s brother. It’s like something from The Jerry Springer Show, she thought glumly.

  “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” she said, in the direction of Mark’s slumped form.

  “Huh?” The sound of her voice stirred him from his trance. He sat upright. “Has everyone gone?”

  “Yes. It’s two o’clock in the morning. Come on.” She held out her hand, helped him to stand up, then guided him towards the door and out into the deserted reception area.

  As they waited for the ancient lift to crank its way down from the third floor, Mark snuggled his face into her neck and kissed it. “Can I come and stay with you tonight?” He attempted to nibble her earlobe but missed.

  Exhausted and deflated, Faye murmured, “No, let’s keep things as we planned.” She loved Mark dearly, but tonight she just wanted time and space alone to get her head round the evening’s events. Pushing him into the lift, she held him up with one hand and pressed the button to the second floor with the other.

  When it shuddered to a halt, she held the door open with her leg and rummaged in Mark’s jacket pocket for his room key. Pressing it into his hand, she pushed him gently out of the door. “Your room is the third on the right,” she whispered. “Goodnight, darling.” She kissed his forehead, then stepped back into the lift and hit the button for the third floor.