Wow. Has it been that long since I saw him properly? I wait for Pen to reproach me like Tig would, but she doesn’t.
‘Am I allowed a kebab, Miss Party Pooper?’ Pen asks, as we approach a stand sellingsouvlaki.
‘Yeah, of course. And don’t call me that.’
Once we have our wraps, I follow Pen’s lead, and we find Tig and Theo sitting on the grass in the sun.
Except Mark is here, too. Of course he is.
The good news is he’s asleep, lying on his back with his knees bent and his hands folded under his head like a pillow.
Making sure I’m as far from him as possible, I sit on the prickly grass with my legs to one side and my knees pressed together. I wouldn’t have worn such a short dress if I’d known he’d be here. There’sfartoo much leg on show, and I’m paranoid that when he wakes he’ll take one look at me and know I’ve been having wild sex with him in my dreams.
Tig and Theo – but mainly Tig – are excitedly chattering about the caterer they just met. He’s got a tent here today and Yan introduced them.
‘Did it go well?’ Pen asks.
‘Really well,’ says Theo. ‘We’ll do a tasting when we get back from Cyprus, but he couldn’t have been more helpful or kind.’
‘You happy, too?’ I ask Tig. ‘Because that’s whatreallymatters.’
‘Blissfully.’
She smiles at Theo, and he smiles back.
The beauty of Alexandra Palace is its position on a hill. Up here, London is laid out below us, the iconic buildings of the Square Mile glinting in the distance. And even though it’s hot, a gentle breeze keeps everything comfortable.
But my gaze keeps sliding from the chimneys and trees and faraway skyscrapers to Mark’s sleeping form. He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt over loose jeans, a sliver of golden skin peeking over the waistband every time he inhales.
He looks vulnerable asleep, almost child-like, in a way he never does when he’s awake. He’s been such an imposing figure all my life, but he was once a kid, too – a kid with a brutal father. I guess he had to learn to hide his vulnerabilities pretty fast.
Yan told me years ago that he got into weight training out of necessity rather than choice. And the same was true of Mark. Both of them wanted to get better at seeing off physical threats. In Yan’s case, from school bullies, and in Mark’s, from inside his own home.
Mark has mentioned Giovanni’s violence a couple of times now. It doesn’t matter how many years ago he left; for the son he treated so badly, Giovanni will never be ancient history.
Mark could have turned out like him. Instead, he made something of his life. And even I can admit that deserves admiration.
‘Here come the girls!’ Tig yells, as cousins Anna and Maria approach.
She stage-manages everyone into new positions, shooing me and Theo towards Mark so she can seat the cousins close enough to show them pictures of her wedding dress.
Against impressive odds, Mark stays asleep through the shrieks of joy over bridal gowns.
‘Is Mark okay?’ I whisper to Theo. ‘Have you checked he’s not in a coma?’
‘His mum had a bad reaction to a new drug,’ he replies in a low voice. ‘He spent half the night at the nursing home giving her doctors hell.’
‘Poor Anthi. Is she okay?’
‘Yes, no long-term effects. But it gave Mark a scare.’ He pauses. ‘His mum’s the only family he has left.’
‘Doesn’t stop him moving halfway across the world,’ I say, an undertone of judgement in my voice.
‘Ealing doesn’t hold many fond memories for him,’ says Theo kindly. ‘He always said he’d rather chop off his arm than live in London again. No offence,’ he adds hastily.
I force a smile. ‘None taken.’
Mark left when he was eighteen and never looked back. I was never sure if it was by accident or design. Now I guess I have my answer.
