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  So long as Uncle John didn’t say the word love too much.

  Chapter 3

  “So how long had you been married?” Becca had swapped seats with Alice to get the skinny on Duncan, whose lips were that little bit darker still — but from what he was telling her, she didn’t blame him. Duncan had taken his navy-blue suit jacket off and rolled up his sleeves, revealing ultra-hairy forearms. The amount of hair men had on their bodies always shocked her whenever she saw it. You could stack pencils in Duncan’s arm hair.

  “Four years,” he replied, stroking his jaw. Now the speeches were over and the tables were beginning to disband, he seemed less wound up, more relaxed. Perhaps it really was all the talk of love that had driven him to drink. “And I thought we were doing just fine. Just goes to prove it’s right what they say — you’re always the last to know.”

  “Are you still living together?”

  Becca might not be keen to get married right now, but that didn’t mean she’d ruled it out completely. But when she did, she wanted to avoid a situation like Duncan’s occurring — or to end up like her sister Siobhan, who was bringing up two kids on her own after her husband left.

  It was one of the reasons Becca had decided to take a year off dating and concentrate on herself and her career. So far, it was working. When you stopped thinking about women and sex, it was amazing the brain space you freed up to do other things. It was paying off career-wise, as she was due to start her dream job on Monday — as well as starting her wedding-planning business on the side.

  Duncan shook his head. “Nope, I moved out, I couldn’t stand the tension.” He jerked his head towards Cleo, who was chatting with Becca’s sister, Rachel. “I’m crashing at my sister’s place till I get myself sorted. And I’m thinking of showing Michelle that I can be spontaneous and try new things.” He leaned back in his chair. “I might just surprise her with what I’m capable of and who I really am.”

  Becca furrowed her brow. “Sounds intriguing. Are you actually Superman and you’re keeping it a dark secret?”

  “It will definitely involve a cape,” Duncan told her, grinning.

  A woman appeared behind him, putting both hands on his shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

  Duncan turned and when he saw who it was, jumped to his feet and gave the woman a hug.

  “This is my mum,” he told Becca, holding out a hand towards her. “And this is Becca, Fionn’s cousin and fellow non-believer in love.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Becca said.

  Duncan’s mum shook her head, giving him a light slap on the arm. “Don’t listen to whatever he’s telling you. He still believes in love, and believes in it with his wife, too. He just needs to stop being such a big baby and get some backbone.”

  Duncan sat down, pushing out a chair for his mum, who took it. Even though he was over 6ft, he’d shrunk in his mum’s presence, perhaps going back to the little boy he’d always been to her.

  Cleo gave her mum a kiss before sitting back down.

  “You’re not moving back home anytime soon then, I take it?” his mum said.

  Duncan pursed his lips. “Not until Michelle stops being so hostile, no.”

  His mum rolled her eyes.

  “Nice to see you’re taking my side. I’ve been hurt, and I think, after chatting with Becca, I’ve made a decision. I’m going to tell my side of the story, because it takes two to tango.”

  His mum just gave him a grin, getting up and cupping his face. “Your side of the story? I’ve heard it all now,” she said, laughing. “I spoke to Michelle, and she just needs some time to calm down, and you just need to think about how you might make it up to her. You need to keep the romance alive in your relationship, otherwise things like this happen.” She lowered her voice and glanced at Cleo. “Look what happened to your sister — let that be a lesson to you.”

  Now Becca was intrigued. What happened to Cleo?

  “Anyway, I need the loo. Nice to meet you, Becca. See if you can talk some sense into my son, will you?”

  Did all mums attend the same school of advice-giving? Lesson one: tell your offspring to suck it up and get on with it. Duncan’s mum and her own were clearly cut from the same cloth. Becca would lay bets she served Buck’s Fizz and Twiglets on special occasions, too.

  “She never takes me seriously,” Duncan said, turning back to Becca. “But I’ll show her and Michelle that I can stand up and be a man.” Then he pouted, folded his arms, and scanned the room. “Is the bar open yet? I’ve had enough wine, I’m going to see if they’ve got a lager.” He got up, leaving Cleo and Becca staring at each other.

  Cleo moved to Duncan’s seat, and up close, Becca found herself overcome with shyness, a tingle of nerves flaring within her. She gulped as Cleo gave her a sure smile.

  “We haven’t been formerly introduced yet,” she said, holding out her hand.

  Becca’s eyes lingered on her smooth fingers, her short, manicured nails.

  “I’m Cleo, and I apologise on behalf of my family.” She laughed at her own joke, and Becca followed suit.

  “My family are all here, so I apologise on their behalf, too.” Becca took Cleo’s hand in hers and gripped it softly, not wanting to let go until she absolutely had to. When she looked up, Cleo was giving her a half smile.

  “I’m Becca,” she added.

  “I know,” Cleo replied.

  Chapter 4

  Cleo sat at the table with a gaggle of Fionn’s cousins, trying to take her mind off the fact she’d do anything for a cigarette. Well, not quite anything, but she’d certainly kill to find a smoker in the crowd.

  Back when she was growing up, they’d been far easier to locate. Hell, back then, smoking had even been allowed in pubs and restaurants. Cleo had given up a year ago, but at times like these, when she’d been drinking for a couple of hours and could do with a break, having a cigarette had been the easy option.

  Not that the day had been as bad as she’d imagined. Weddings always brought out the cynical side in her — how could they not? — but this one had been quite enjoyable. She’d been cast in the role of her brother’s carer for the day, but after a rocky start, he’d come round to being a passable human.

  He was currently engaged in conversation with Jude, an estate agent and the middle child of the Cramer family, and it’d reached the stage in the evening where the dance floor had a smattering of the eager and the drunk, the DJ fulfilling her duty of playing Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’ at least once.

  Cleo’s whole body tensed moments later as the first dance was announced and the floor cleared. She’d been dreading this part.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  She looked up to see Becca, the youngest Cramer sister, standing over her, one hand in her side pocket, her stance confident. Their conversation earlier had been brief, one of Becca’s cousins dragging her away to meet her new boyfriend. Cleo couldn’t imagine being the youngest of five siblings. She and Duncan got along just fine, but she was pretty sure she didn’t want three more of him.

  “Be my guest,” Cleo said, pushing the chair out with her right foot.

  Did Becca smoke? Being the youngest, she very well might. Of her office team, it was only the youngest who did.

  Becca smoothed down her patterned pink trousers as she sat back in the padded ballroom chair, rolling her shoulders as she did so. Cleo swept her eyes over Becca’s slim body, and her short, styled dark hair. It was shaved up the back and sides, with a carefully styled quiff on top. Cleo could never manage that — she’d be constantly fretting about it dropping, but Becca’s hair was still standing tall.

  “Long day?” Cleo enquired.

  Becca smiled again. “It’s been lovely, really. And Fionn seems happy, which is the main thing, right?”

  “So they tell me.” Cleo remembered her own wedding day, and how happy she’d been, too. In her experience, it wasn’t a sure-fire barometer of how the marriage was going to pan out.

  “You don’t sound enthused.”

  Cleo shook her head. “On the contrary, I think weddings are fab — so much optimism for the future, and a big celebration. Life needs more celebrations.”

  “And parties with free bars.”

  Cleo returned her grin. “My point exactly,” she said. “Don’t mind me, I’m just a little cynical. Fionn and Ryan will make it just fine and have a gazillion happy babies I’m sure.”

  They were currently dancing cheek to cheek, swaying to an Ed Sheeran number, phones all around the room capturing their intimate public moment.

  “They might even make one tonight.”

  When Cleo looked up, Becca’s face was wrinkled in a frown.

  “Too much?”

  “Just the thought makes me a little queasy,” Becca replied, sitting forward, flashing Cleo a fully loaded smile that held her attention.

  Becca was striking, but also strikingly young. How old had her mum been when she’d given birth? The age span between the first and the last child had to be at least 15 years. Cleo had gone to school with a girl whose nephew had been older than her, and she’d always found it fascinating. What was the age gap between Becca and her eldest niece or nephew?

  “That’s straight sex for you,” Cleo said, then put her hand over her mouth. That had meant to be an internal thought, but lately, those internal thoughts kept tumbling out of her mouth.

  But Becca let out a belly laugh, cocking her head at Cleo. “So you bat for the opposing team, too?”

  Cleo could feel her cheeks warming, and was glad of the dimmed lighting in the reception hall. “Apparently, out of a table of ten, there were four of us on table three. Scandalous.”

  “It totally is,” Becca replied.

  The sound of chairs being scraped back indicated the bride and groom were inviting their guests to join them in the second half of their first dance. The click of heels on the wooden dance floor, light laughter and throat-clearing as arms entwined and bodies pressed together, twirling in circular motion to the music.

  Cleo’s mum threw her head back as her dad spun her around — they were both keen dancers who knew their way around a floor. Cleo spotted Becca’s parents in the mix, too — she’d met them earlier — along with a clutch of aunts, uncles, friends and cousins who’d watched Strictly Come Dancing and wanted a go themselves.

  “I’ve always kinda cringed at this bit, haven’t you?” Becca’s voice sliced through her thoughts.

  Cleo sat up, shaking her head. “Not really — I was just admiring my parents. They’ve always loved to dance, and I’ve always been envious. I can hold my own, but I’ve never had a partner who wanted to do it with me. They, on the other hand, have been dance partners for life.”

  Becca’s gaze appraised her. “Whereas I just think the whole thing is a bit embarrassing — having to dance while everyone watches you. If I ever do get married, there’s no way I’m having a first dance.”

  Every muscle in Cleo’s body tensed. She hadn’t had one at her own wedding, and it was one of the biggest regrets of her life. With hindsight, she knew that was a warning — that Sara wouldn’t bend to the one thing she’d so wanted on her big day.

  “You might change your mind,” Cleo replied, hoping the smile she was giving Becca wasn’t too sad. “I think dancing’s an underrated skill. Plus, you know what they say — slick on your feet, slick between the sheets.” She paused. “Which is a maxim I don’t like to think about too much when I apply it to my parents.”

  Another loud laugh from Becca. “And if that’s true, I think we can safely say Fionn and Ryan won’t be making any babies later — he keeps treading on her foot. But she’s still laughing, so that’s a good sign.”

  Before Cleo could respond, Becca’s parents were heading towards them, relief spelt out on her dad’s face at being let off his dancing duties so early. He asked if they wanted drinks, and then disappeared to the bar.

  Becca’s mum, Martha, pulled out a seat and plonked herself next to them. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, but her dyed, set hair was still perfect, her fascinator still angled just right. Plus, her cornflower-blue dress was one Cleo’s mum would salivate over.

  The last time Cleo had worn a dress was on her wedding day. She’d made so many mistakes on that day.

  “How you doing?” Martha gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek after she spoke.

  “We’re good — just marvelling at all the dodgy dancing going on,” Becca replied.

  “All part of a good wedding, and this one is great, isn’t it?” Martha didn’t wait for an answer. “Are you getting up to dance?”

  “With who?” Becca rolled her eyes at Cleo, then turned back to her mum. “I told you, I’m having a year off dating and that includes dancing. Well, slow dancing at least.”

  Cleo spotted pink creeping onto Becca’s cheeks.

  Martha smiled. “I know, you’ve told me enough times. Although why you’d cut off that part of your life baffles me. But then, I’m just a lowly mother, what do I know?” She gave her daughter an exaggerated shrug.

  “The dating game’s not the same as when you were young, it’s a different world.” Becca’s voice was tighter than it had been, her words not having quite the same bounce.

  “And what about you, Cleo? Do you feel the same?”

  Now that was a loaded question if ever Cleo heard one. “If a gorgeous woman wanted to come and sweep me off my feet, I’d be game.”

  Martha’s eyes widened at Cleo’s words, before she looked from Becca, to Cleo, and then back.

  “I didn’t realise you were a lesbian, too,” she said, failing to keep the shock out of her voice.

  Cleo felt the urge to laugh, but managed to keep a straight face. Becca’s family were just as entertaining as hers.

  “Why don’t you dance together?” Martha continued, oblivious. “You’d make a fabulous couple.”

  Becca shook her head, giving her mum a murderous look. “Just because Cleo is gay and so am I, doesn’t mean we’re going to get together or dance together — it doesn’t work like that.” Becca sighed. “So please stop embarrassing me. I thought we were past this stage.”

  Her mum let out a cackle of laughter. “You’re never too old to be embarrassed by your mum, surely?” She turned to Cleo. “We were on the same table as your parents at dinner, and I’ve invited them to our curry night in a few weeks’ time — you should come, too. You and your brother. You’re practically family for Fionn, after all.”

  Cleo kept her face neutral, nodding as she did. She already knew what Duncan would say to a happy family meal out, but she didn’t want to burst Martha’s bubble right away. “That sounds lovely,” she replied, as Martha got up.

  “I better go and find your dad, you know what he’s like. A free bar, he might be doing shots by now!”

  Cleo watched her go before turning back to Becca, who was shaking her head.

  “I was planning on making an escape to a bar in Soho later — around 11.” She looked Cleo straight in the eye. “Any interest in joining me? My mother thinks we should get married already as we’re both lesbians, so we may as well fuel her fire.”

  Cleo ground her teeth together as she sat back in her chair. Soho? That was like a planet from the dim, distant past. Yes, she might be turning 40 next year, but that didn’t count her out of the lesbian scene, did it? Plus, going out with someone much younger might give her a fresh perspective on life. And it surely had to be better than dancing to Abba one more time?

  A slow smile spread across her face as she nodded. “I can’t remember the last time I went out in Soho on a weekend, so you’re on.”

  Chapter 5

  They arrived at Friends, Becca’s Soho bar of choice, just after 11.30pm. Situated underground, it was accessed through a slender doorway on a murky alleyway whose only other businesses were sex shops or pubs. If you didn’t know where you were going, you’d never find it.

  Tonight, as most Saturday nights, the bar was heaving. Even though it was a gay bar, at the weekend Friends turned into an everyone bar, with all ages and orientations squeezed into its four fluorescent walls.

  Cleo insisted on buying their first drinks, and Becca led the way through to the back bar. They added their thick winter coats to an overloaded rack, then found a sliver of wall to lean against and take a breath. Next to them, two women were going for gold in a kissing contest — they hadn’t come up for air in the ten minutes they’d been standing there.

  Becca leaned over until her lips were hovering beside Cleo’s ear. The music in Friends was ramped up to the max. “You think she missed dinner?” She glanced towards the kissing couple.

  “I think she might have.” Cleo paused. “I remember doing that with my ex. Not in here, but in another gay bar, the rest of the world shut out. It’s just you and her, and that’s all that counts.” A sad smile flitted across her face. “I miss those days, even though it ended badly. The start of a relationship is always the best, so much to look forward to, so much of the unknown ahead.” She winced, shaking her head. “Sorry, over-sharing — blame the wedding and Duncan’s influence. And possibly the red wine.”

  Someone had clearly stamped on Cleo’s heart, leaving it bruised and misshapen. A wave of sympathy washed through Becca; she’d known heartbreak, too. She hadn’t meant to upset Cleo, and she hoped she could pull her up as quick as she’d fallen down.

  “The start of a relationship is exciting, but so far, mine haven’t ended well — which is why I’m taking a break.” Becca paused, glancing down at the floor before looking back up at Cleo. “And after that little speech, I take it you’re not seeing anyone at the moment?”

  Cleo shook her head, taking a sip of her vodka and Coke. “The clues are all there when I turn up to a wedding with my brother as my plus one. I heard some older aunty comment on what a lovely young couple we made, and I almost barfed. Still, at least I scored a younger man, I suppose.”