‘Oh God,’ she laughed, ‘don’t believe a word he says.’
‘I’m told you two are great friends,’ Carlos chuckled, his low voice and Spanish accent somehow making the wordfriendssound softer and warmer.
Carlos was taller and more conventionally handsome than Greg, with high cheekbones, abundant white-streaked hair and eyes the colour of chocolate truffles – but he lacked the easy, open confidence that came naturally to his husband.
‘Well,that’strue,’ Rachel said, smiling. She looked at him and Greg side by side and decided they were well matched. A look of perfect understanding passed between them and Rachel felt briefly envious: painfully aware of her isolation. Greg was sure to quiz her about her own relationship the moment his chance arose – and for a few short seconds she sincerely wished it weren’t faked.
Impatient to get some singing underway, Anna and Will went to find out when the band would begin playing. Tom and Carlos made their way to the bar for more drinks and – as Rachel had anticipated – Greg immediately rounded on her.
‘So, tell me about Clark Kent,’ he said. ‘I want to knoweverything– or as much as you can spill in the time it takes for him to buy you another cocktail.’
‘Who?’ Rachel asked, nonplussed. Greg looked at her like she was the most tiresome person on the planet.
‘Your tall drink of water over there,’ he groaned, gesturing at Tom. ‘He’slovely, but he clearly plays it down. He’d stop traffic with those eyes if he started wearing contacts.’
Rachel nodded, dumb, and felt herself flush. Then she told herself it was stupid to be coy. If she felt embarrassed, it should be because she’d allowed a tiny lie to become a huge one and – as of tonight – had dragged poor Tom into helping her maintain it.
‘Stacked too,’ Greg pronounced, always happy to hold a conversation mostly with himself. ‘Nice arms, and I bet he has absfor daysunderneath that T-shirt.’
Rachel flashed back to bumping into Tom in the park, seeing him peel a layer of damp fabric away from the stomach muscles it had stuck to. Her cheeks were burning.
‘Oh my God, you’resmitten,’ Greg said, amused by Rachel’s silence. She felt terrible – sickened by her own dishonesty.
Before Greg could say anything else that made her want to curl up and die, Tom reappeared. He sat down on Greg’s other side and within seconds they were chatting like old friends. Rachel felt her shoulders sag in relief. He was playing his part brilliantly.
‘Music’s going to start in ten,’ Anna said, plonking herself back down at the table. ‘So people can start requesting songs anytime now. Will and I already have about five numbers on the list.’
Rachel smiled and raised her glass in salute, and Anna mirrored the gesture – but her answering grin didn’t make it as far as her eyes.
Tom looked at Rachel and mouthed the word ‘Five?’, then set his face in a horrified grimace.
Rachel laughed, and he laughed with her. Perhaps this was all going to be fine.
Jack arrived at the bar just after nine – fashionably late and armed with a large gold gift bag.
‘Happy birthday,’ he said, leaning in to kiss Rachel on the cheek. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late. You look gorgeous.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking the present from him and willing her heart to stop hammering. ‘You really shouldn’t have, though.’ Inside the bag was a bunch of beautiful pale-pink roses and a bottle of champagne.
Anna and Will were halfway through a lusty, tuneless rendition of ‘I Got You Babe’. Greg was watching them, boggle-eyed at the massacre of a beloved Cher song, and Carlos was talking to Tom.
‘Drink?’ Jack asked Rachel, inclining his head towards the bar and throwing his dark-grey jacket over the back of a nearby chair.
‘A glass of fizz, please,’ Rachel said. She watched him move through the mass of drinkers in the main bar, marvelling as several people – men and women – tried to catch his eye in the seconds it took him to cross the floor.
Then Tom was beside her, his hand on her shoulder. ‘So. That’s him.’
‘Yeah.’ Rachel nodded.
Jack had somehow managed to jump the bar queue; he was being served already. He didn’t even do itdeliberately, she thought – things like this just seemed to happen for him, and he let them.
‘I get it,’ Tom said. She turned to look at him, eyebrows up. ‘I mean, he’s obviously handsome. And he has some charisma, which a surprising amount of beautiful people lack. He looks like he belongs in an ad for an heirloom watch brand.’
Rachel wasn’t sure what to say. Tom wasn’t being nasty – in fact everything he’d said about Jack was complimentary. It just didn’t sound that way.
‘You’re absolutelysureyou want to let him think we’re together?’ Tom asked, pushing his glasses up his nose a little and looking down at Rachel for an answer. She felt a bit like a first-year student who’d just been asked a tricky question by the not much older but significantly better-read tutor she wanted to impress. Her stomach turned over.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. We have to – I mean, as long as you’re still willing. I promise that after tonight I’ll spin some story that sorts this out. You won’t have to lie for me a second time.’
