Page 10 of The Wedding Pact

IDA

Shame

Suits are hot

RaffAlone

In that case I’ll pack one

IDA

RaffAlone

Ping me an address for wherever you want picking up from and I’ll send a car for you at 7.30 to take you to Farnborough Airport

IDA

Oh. Not Heathrow?

RaffAlone

Nope. We’re taking a private plane

IDA

Srsly dude?

RaffAlone

Yup. I don’t normally use them, but needs must this time. I’ve got to work till the eleventh hour

IDA

Okay. See you there tomorrow then

RaffAlone

Thanks

I owe you BIG

2

RAFFA

The executive lounge at Farnborough Airport is mercifully quiet when I walk into it, preparing myself to meet Ida in person for the first time.

If she actually turns up, that is.

I guess I wouldn’t blame her if she bottled it at the last minute. Going to a wedding with a bunch of strangers and pretending to be the girlfriend of a guy you’ve only ever talked to online is quite a thing to agree to do.

We’ve been direct messaging for weeks, after meeting in a chatroom for a game we were both obsessed with, then hiving off when a bunch of dickhead trolls started getting on our tits, so I feel like we’ve got a good sense of each other now.

And the video call last night helped; even if it was only brief. At least I know what she looks like and can be confident she’s not going to turn out to be a middle-aged dude called Dave.

She actually looked exactly how I’d expect a gamer to look: hair scraped back in a ponytail, large-framed glasses for computer work, oversized hoodie and no make-up.

She’s pretty, though, that was clear.