My plan is foiled when I get back to the main room and I can’t find him. The room is packed now with people talking loudly and happily. He isn’t here. I come to a stop in the room. Where is he? Then I spot that the door to the patio is ajar, letting in a draught of cool air. I push my way towards it, but when I reach my destination I pause, hovering with my hand over the handle. I don’t know why I’m so uneasy. He might not even be out there. He might have gone looking for me or be helping Patrick.

The nice thought gives me the encouragement to open the doors. They swing open, letting fresh air flow around me as I stand stock still, staring at the sight in front of my eyes. Zeb and Patrick are standing on the patio, their arms wrapped around each other and their mouths fused together in a hungry kiss.

For what seems like an eternity but is probably only a couple of seconds I can’t move, standing looking at them. Then Patrick gives a low groan and it breaks my stasis and I step back, banging my elbow clumsily on the door. Then I’m gone back into the room, making my way towards the door and escape.

Zeb

For a too-long second I stand on the balcony held tightly against Patrick’s chest, who seems to have developed hands like an octopus since we split up. Surprise keeps me there for a second but then reality surges back and I get my hands up and push him back forcibly. He stumbles back, his mouth swollen and his eyes at half-mast. Once, that would have done things to me. Now, I just feel a weary surge of disgust.

“What the fuck?” I say, wiping my mouth. “What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”

He rests back against the stone balustrade and shrugs, a half smile on his face. “I’ve always been mad. You know it.”

“Yes, but not suicidal.” I stare at him. “Pat, you’re getting married in a few hours and you’re trying to kiss your ex.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not my ex.”

“I must have a powerful imagination, then,” I say wryly. “Because I’m sure I remember a fair few screaming matches followed by you taking half my furniture and my pension.”

“We’ll never be over,” he says stubbornly, coming back towards me, his arms outstretched. I sidestep them neatly, so he stumbles slightly.

“Why?”

He stares at me feverishly. “Because nothing and no one can get in our way. Not Frances, not your silly boy toy.”

“Leave Jesse out of this,” I say sharply. He laughs, and I narrow my eyes. “What have you done?” I say.