I needed to stop worrying about my bloody mum. Fernanda had loved it when I’d called her and asked if I could use Alexander’s ticket for Patrick. I wasn’t sure how she’d react, but she wouldn’t even let him pay for the name change – she’d been overwhelmingly delighted for me, and didn’t even ask how I knew him or if she’d met him before. I tried to squash down the guilt at her generosity, because it made her happy to do this for me, she’d reasoned. Her bigheartedness was humbling.

Patrick trotted ahead, cargo shorts that I’d normally think no man should be seen dead in sitting low on his hips, his collared polo shirt lazily half-tucked in at one side, the muscles in the backs of his arms twitching as he moved.

Over his shoulder he said, ‘Stop staring at my bum and hop to it, you.’

‘I thought you had tissue under your heel,’ I said, too quickly, and he stopped to lift his shoe and check.

‘You don’t,’ I continued. ‘Trick of the eye.’

He frowned at me.

‘Hop to it,’ I repeated, letting myself lead the way.

11

Patrick had been right: we were in business class. At check-in we were ushered into a designated VIP lane so we didn’t have to queue with everyone else, and then we got whisked through a different lane at security.

‘I normally hate airports,’ Patrick had said as he took his shoes off to go through the X-ray machine. ‘But this makes it all so easy.’

‘I guess money can’t buy you happiness, but it can buy you convenience,’ I quipped.

‘Heck if that isn’t right,’ he’d agreed.

As we navigated through to the lounge he gasped: ‘Aye caramba.’ A smiling woman in a uniform of sleek beige skirt and fitted white shirt explained the set-up to us.

‘Sit wherever you feel most comfortable,’ she told us, waving a manicured hand towards the views of the runway. ‘You can take a look at the spa menu and book in for up to two treatments whilst you wait – a back massage and a mini facial, say. Help yourself to the newspapers and magazines, there’s a salad bar and treat bar over there, and at the end of the hallway you’ll find the locker rooms where you can freshen up.’ The whole place was a sumptuous palace of cream hues and suited-up businesspeople. ‘Food menus are on each table,’ she continued, ‘and in each pod. We’ll be happy to help with anything else you might need – just flag one of us down.’ Patrick and I bobbed our heads in understanding. ‘Mr and Mrs Mackenzie,’ she said, ‘Have a most comfortable morning with us, and a beautiful honeymoon.’

My eyebrows shot up so high on my head that they were practically on the ceiling.

‘Oh, we’re not—’