“Well, that’s something. Maybe Jenna’s got a hot poetry-writing cousin who plays jazz and whittles woodland animals in his spare time. Our eyes will meet at the wedding over the hot buffet in the evening, as we both make a play for the last tempura-battered king prawn, and we’ll fall madly in love,” Nory said dreamily.

“Those are quite specific requirements. That is, in fact, the opposite of loosening up.”

“It doesn’t have to be tempura king prawns. It could be chicken wings or mini pancake rolls.”

“Not really what I was referring to,” said Ameerah, frowning.

Mugwort was already asleep on the end of the bed when Nory climbed into it. She wondered how he would take to playing second fiddle to a baby while she was away. Matilda hadn’t been born the last time Andrew and Seb cat-sat, and Mugwort had grown rather used to their chicken terrines and nightly grooming; he’d been an absolute prima donna for a week after his return.

Nory sighed, pulled her laptop onto the bed, and balanced it on her knees. She had been putting this off for weeks, but she couldn’t avoid it any longer. She clicked on the wedding invitation and opened the dreaded wedding gift list.

It was as she had expected: tailored to the wallets of the well-heeled. She scanned down the list. Ooh spaghetti tongs! That’s more like it. How pricey could they be? £95??? What are they made of, gold? Okay, a spoon rest—£125 for a place to rest a spoon? This went on for some time.

Eventually, sandwiched between a bespoke hand-whittled garden arbor and a reproduction Art Deco–style drinks cabinet in solid walnut, she found a scented candle for £80. She winced as she pressed Purchase Now. She was glad to see that all gifts would be delivered to the bride and groom’s home address, so that she wouldn’t have the embarrassment of placing her gift next to the bronze statuette of Eros or the chaise longue upholstered in Chinese painted silk. Nory imagined her dad launching into a rant about the abominable elite.

Nory dropped Mugwort off at Andrew and Seb’s after work on Saturday. The elderly cat had sniffed Matilda suspiciously before deciding she was acceptable company and allowing her to tug on his ears as he curled up next to her and Seb on the sofa.

“When’s your mum arriving?” Nory asked.

“Monday evening,” Seb replied. “I was going to pick her up from the airport, but she’s insisting on getting a taxi. She doesn’t want to be a burden.” Seb cringed as he said this. Seb’s mum made Mariah Carey look low maintenance.

“I’ve almost finished hand stitching the red carpet for her arrival,” said Andrew.