What the hell was wrong with her?
For the first time, she wondered whether Jude might have done her a favour by disappearing from her life so completely four years ago. Given the seething, vengeful fury that had just engulfed her at the sight of seeing him chatting tohiscousin, she had to reason that she wouldn’t have coped well with Instagrams of him and some gorgeous Aussie girlfriend loved up on Bondi Beach.
‘Hello,’ a voice said, and she felt dread drip down her spine as she realised who it belonged to. She turned to see Marc emerging from the gents, dressed impeccably in box-fresh trainers, high-end denim and a graphic-print t-shirt. Hannah could tell it was one of those items designed to look vintage and worn-in, but which was actually brand new and cost as much as a night in a nice hotel.
‘What are you .?.?.?’ She faltered, totally astonished to see him so far from home. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, as he smirked at her speechlessness from a couple of metres away.
Was it possible he’d come here to seeher? She had no clue how he’d have tracked her down, and the idea seemed mad – born of the sort of main character syndrome Hannah wasn’t usually prone to. Yet there was something too satisfied in Marc’s expression: the gleam in his eyes spoke of a gamble that had paid off.
‘Just using the loo,’ he said, shrugging. ‘The one downstairs is closed.’ He said this with a light nonchalance that,to Hannah, appeared entirely feigned. ‘I’ve been in Manchester today to meet with some people from my old record label,’ Marc went on. ‘I’m writing again, and they’re interested in putting out some new stuff – a solo album, maybe.’
Hannah sensed she was supposed to be impressed with this, but refused to give Marc the reaction he was angling for.
He stepped towards her, and Hannah instinctively shrank back against the wall.
‘You look incredible, by the way,’ Marc said, his eyes roving her body unapologetically. The frank, assessing gaze made her shiver – and not in a good way. She got the distinct impression that, if she protested, he’d clap back: if you didn’t want to be ogled, youdefinitelyshouldn’t have worn that dress.
‘I’m here with my brother,’ she heard herself say.Subtext: he’s six foot two, built like a barn door and could crush you like an egg. Invoking Ed as some sort of protector, however obliquely, made Hannah realise how badly Marc’s presence here had shaken her. The only brutality Ed had ever engaged in was on the rugby pitch, and even there he was known more for speed and agility than strength.
‘I see,’ Marc said, completely uninterested. ‘D’you know, coincidences like this are rare. They mean something.’
Coincidence, my arse, Hannah thought, more certain than ever that he’d known she would be here – that the toilet SNAFU was the only real fluke at play here. How had Marc managed it, though?
Joe had announced his engagement to Ed on Instagram this morning in a post that mentioned there’d be a boozy celebration in Manchester tonight. He’d jokily hashtagged it ‘#lovedoctorwedding’ and had also tagged Eventurous, describing it as the only firm he’d trust to plan a celebration fabulous enough for his ‘heart-stoppingly handsome’ fiancé.
Aglow with the excitement of the 1,342 new followers this single snapshot had garnered her – and never thinking she might regret it – Hannah had shared the gorgeous image of a smiling Ed and Joe to her stories. She’d even added a caption that, tongue-in-cheek, stated she was a nepo hire because one of the grooms was her brother.
Had Marc seen it? Probably. And it came to her that she’d witnessed any number of Joe’s friends taking selfies tonight – that many of them were chronically online media types, or influencers who’d merrily have jumped on the hashtag Joe created earlier. There were teachers in the crowd, too: a crop of lovely staff from the schools Ed worked in. They, Hannah guessed, might be less circumspect about what they shared than professionals with tens of thousands of followers. If your audience was fifty friends and family members, adding a location to your post, or tagging the bar you were currently in, was low-risk. But if Marc had been watching the hashtag and just one person had usedthatin addition to disclosing where they were .?.?. Bingo. He’d have had all the information he needed to crash the party – especially if he were already in the city. Her stomach turned over as she faced the possibility that he’d been this committed to contriving a meeting with her;thisdetermined to put her on the back foot.
The theory was far-fetched, but it felt right. Hannah couldn’t prove it, and she knew accusing Marc would yield nothing but incredulous scoffing – yet she felt in her bones that he’d hit upon an opportunity to shock her and very deliberately pursued it.
‘That’s the word for this, is it? A coincidence?’ she asked, pointedly.
‘Actually, it’s fate, if you ask me,’ Marc said, inching a little closer. ‘This is a sign bigger forces are at work. Maybe they want you and I back together again.’
Hannah felt a rising panic that Marc might try to kiss her. Simultaneously, she was struggling to hold back laughter.Bigger forces?What fatalistic bollocks. And god knew that if invisible hands really were moving her like a pawn on a chessboard, it wasn’t inMarc’sdirection. She wondered what he’d make of it if she told him she’d bumped into her only significant ex after four years of total silence, then discovered their brothers were tying the knot. ‘How’s that for proof ofbigger forces at work?’ she’d ask him, with jazz hands. Hannah’s chest vibrated with barely repressed hysteria.
Marc took another step forward and she threw up her hands, palms facing him. The universal signal forstop.
He did not stop. His body hovered mere inches away from hers. She could smell the expensive cologne he always wore – something involving mandarin and tobacco leaves that she’d once thought lovely and now found heavy and cloying.
‘Marc,’ she said urgently, no longer able to find any humour in the situation. ‘I don’t—’
She tripped over the words she was trying to get out as he stared down at her, smiling like they were playing some game. It was as if he thought they were kids playing kiss chase and she’d purposely let herself be caught.
‘Can you step away from her, please?’ a cool voice said. ‘Now. She’s obviously uncomfortable.’
Hannah looked up, her heart in her mouth.
Jude – his face like thunder – was standing to Marc’s right. Several inches taller than Marc, he was visibly tense: shoulders rigid and hands balled up tight at his sides.
Clearly ready to intervene on her behalf, his eyes were blazing with a rage she’d never seen in them before – though it was the sort of intense, fierce look she knew other strong feelings could inspire.
Over Marc’s head, their gazes locked. Silently, he asked her:are you OK?
Without words, withoutthinking, she told him the unvarnished truth:yes. I am now.
10
