‘Bless his cotton socks, he was so upset. But I still thought of it as our song, you know, and in the end we did it anyway. During the wedding dance everybody shouted out “bright” whenever “brown” was sung. It turned out to be pretty special.’ She smiled fondly.

Someone put another song on the jukebox and pockets of friends started singing when the chorus of ‘What’s My Scene’ started.

Happy noise filled the pub and Nicole was glad there was no more chance to talk.

She leaned in closer to Mandy’s ear. ‘I might call it a night.’

‘Are you sure?’

Nicole nodded.

‘Why don’t I pop round on Wednesday and give you your first cooking lesson? I’m off work.’

‘Sounds great.’

‘Done. Night.’ Mandy gave Nicole a parting kiss on the cheek.

Lying in bed, Nicole tossed and turned. She could still feel the touch of Danny’s hand on her arm, still feel his warm breath in her ear. But it was too soon. She wasn’t ready for this.

Anyway, maybe she was misreading the whole situation. Why would someone like Danny be interested in her? If there was one thing she’d learned from her previous life, it was that feelings couldn’t be trusted.

Ever.

August, Last Year

Nicky had a mission.

If she’d learned anything these past few months since her spectacularly silent fallout with Jane, it was what she really wanted. And what she really wanted was to finally get married to Mark.

Every time she tried to raise the topic of setting a date, he deflected with one excuse or another. He was working on a big case; one of the partners had taken extended leave; he wanted time to just enjoy being a couple before the drama that came with organising a wedding; didn’t she think she should get her second book finished before the distraction of a wedding took over their lives. Every time he made his case he was logical and intelligent and convincing.

But when did logic come into love? It certainly didn’t for Nicky.

She knew she wasn’t going to best him in an argument. There was no point even trying that route. She had to find another way.

As she sat under her Moreton Bay fig in Hyde Park, she watched the people walking by, wondering how each one of them would handle the predicament she found herself in. The old man walking his terrier might take a pragmatic approach and decide that the marriage didn’t matter as long as they were together. The young woman jogging past her, iPhone strapped to her upper arm, might issue an ultimatum. The middle-aged woman dressed in a grey skirt-suit talking into an earpiece might just go ahead and organise the wedding regardless and simply tell the groom to turn up on the day.