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‘If I start wailing, “Why don’t you love me?”, you’ll gag me and send me home, won’t you?’

‘No.’

‘What?’ I twist to face Charlotte, sat beside me in the back of the cab.

‘That’s actually the main question you need to ask.’

‘Oh yes, because it always nets such great results,’ I huff. ‘I’m actually thinking of opening with, “Why didn’t you tell me you were the mystery kiss?” I’m kind of mad about that. It’s not like him to be so deceitful.’

‘If I may?’ Marcus chimes in as we pull up outside Gareth’s door. ‘I think we should halt the speculation train at this station. Wait until you’ve heard his side of the story.’

‘Must you always be so reasonable?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologises.

‘Don’t forget the booze,’ Charlotte nudges him, reminding the driver to pop the boot.

‘That’s my party plans out the window,’ the driver chuckles before leaning towards me. ‘Good luck, love. And if you need a rebound fling . . .’

I smile back at him. ‘I always wondered what the Above & Beyond ranking was for, now I know.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘I’m tempted.’

‘Amy!’ Charlotte prises me out of the cab. ‘Now is not the time to experiment with dating men twice your age. You have to face this.’

I lean heavily on the bell.

‘Happy?’ I say. And then jump behind Charlotte and Marcus as I hear the latch click.

‘Welcome home!’ Gareth cheers as he opens the door.

He hugs Charlotte, then me but Marcus has his hands full.

‘I bought some wine,’ he says as he hoicks up the case of bottles.

‘Is there a coach party joining us?’ Gareth looks past him to the street.

‘Well, now that I’m married to an event planner I don’t want to get caught short,’ Marcus explains. ‘Mind if I pop a few bottles in the fridge?’

‘Help yourself.’

‘Corkscrew?’ Charlotte prompts.

‘Already on the table. Come on through.’

I’m so relieved we’re eating in the garden, I would’ve felt totally claustrophobic indoors. My intention is to latch on to Frankie and/or Zazel to avoid any possible eye contact, but instead I find myself gazing in wonder as we dip under the draped canvas canopy of a makeshift safari camp. The long table is set with raffia mats and candle lanterns while the winking tea lights and surrounding potted palms give the impression that we’re being watched from the bushes by amber eyes.

‘Was that an elephant trumpet?’

‘The soundtrack is all Jay,’ Gareth explains as the man himself appears, looking like a cross between a tribal leader in a 1970s Bond movie and Cher at an animal conservation fundraiser.

‘I think you’ve just broken the record for the most animal prints incorporated into one outfit,’ I marvel. ‘Ginger giraffe, monochrome zebra, cheetah spot, tiger stripe . . .’

‘Well, they say animal print is like a neutral.’

‘I feel like you are single-handedly disproving that theory.’

And then May steps out from behind him, looking like she’s guarding the area from poachers. I’m about to check Marcus’s pathway for traps when she sees Charlotte.

‘You came back!’ May gasps.

‘Of course I did,’ she says, embracing her. ‘And I come bearing gifts!’

Charlotte opens her leather tote and begins handing out an array of brightly beaded Zulu accessories. For May an eye-catching camera strap, for Jay a bold bib necklace with strands extending all the way to his waist, for me a diamond-patterned cuff and for Gareth a pair of cat collars – cobalt blue and white for Frankie, lilac and bronze for Zazel.

The joy is only amplified when Marcus uncorks and pours the South African wine, a Pinotage for the red-lovers, Chenin Blanc for the white. I stick to kombucha so I can keep a clear head. And boost my digestion. Which could come in handy with this South African themed dinner featuring bobotie – which appears to be a kind of curry moussaka – and pap which is sold as similar to American grits but is a little too much like porridge for my liking.

‘So, tell us everything!’ I say, loading on the salad.

We hear about trips to Table Mountain, the beach penguins, afternoon tea at the baby pink Mount Nelson Hotel . . . Charlotte is just explaining how she had to take off her dangly earrings when approaching a strokable cheetah at a conservation project when Marcus interjects, ‘Sorry, quick question, do we have enough takers for me to open another bottle of wine?’

‘Soon you will know us well enough to never have to ask that question,’ May says, sliding over her glass towards him.

Once topped up, we hear about the inspiring trip to see Nelson Mandela’s cell on Robben Island and how it made them grateful for all their freedoms but also consider their potential legacy.

‘And then Marcus had an Aha! moment while we were on safari.’

‘Well, technically it was more of an Aaaaarghh! moment,’ Marcus confesses. ‘I went out with one of the guides while Charlotte was in the spa and we came across this herd of buffalo. They are so massive – six hundred kilograms – with these huge horns and we were watching them pass and then I don’t know if the wind changed or what happened exactly but this one beast stopped, hung back and locked eyes with me.’

‘What?’ I squeak.

‘And the guide is telling me not to panic but he says he’s gearing up to charge. And I’m thinking, I knew it was too good to be true – marrying a woman like Charlotte and now I’m going to get skewered and, that’s it, my life is over.’

‘Please tell me the guide didn’t shoot him!’ May growls.

Marcus shakes his head. ‘The buffalo looked deep into my soul and it was as if he decided to give me a second chance.’

May rolls her eyes.

‘I’m not even kidding. I have never been so grateful in my entire life, so all the way back to the hotel I’m thinking about how I can show that buffalo that he made the right choice.’

‘Did you exchange email addresses?’ May asks. ‘How’s he going to keep updated?’

Charlotte shushes her and explains that he’s already made a donation to a local conservation group.

‘But that’s not all – that night at dinner we’re seated with this French couple and we get onto the topic of aristocracy and they used that phrase “noblesse oblige” – you’ve heard of it, right?’

The general consensus is that we’ve heard of it and we can definitely see it has a French origin but we don’t really know what it means.

Charlotte holds up her phone and reads the dictionary definition.

‘ “Noblesse oblige is the inferred responsibility of privileged people to act with generosity and nobility towards those less privileged.” Or, as wikipedia says, “Nobility extends beyond mere entitlements and requires the person who holds such a status to fulfill social responsibilities.” ’

‘So that’s what I’m going to do,’ Marcus cheers. ‘I am going to dedicate the rest of my life to using my privilege to help others.’

‘Oh my god!’ I gasp. ‘Noble!’

‘Are you just getting this?’ May frowns.

‘Noooo! I’ve been trying to come up with a name and a concept for this new skincare range we’re branding and this would be perfect! Noble! Be a Noble Man!’ I enthuse.

‘It’s definitely catchy,’ May concedes.

‘We wanted a socially conscious aspect to it so maybe we could even let people choose where their donation portion of the profits will go. Like, you register online and scroll through the options until you find a cause that really fires you up, and then you get to feel like a Noble Man when you donate.’

‘Wouldn’t it be great if whenever you are feeling bad about yourself, instead of looking up exes on Facebook, you made a donation – just whatever you could afford – and then you’d feel all benevolent and gracious and good!’ Charlotte joins in.

‘Of course, not everyone is interested in doing good,’ Jay notes.

‘Well, we wouldn’t be marketing to those people. When you speak to everyone you speak to no one.’

‘But does the skincare company itself even care about doing good?’

‘I don’t think that matters,’ I reply. ‘If you were a charity, who would you appreciate more – the person with good intentions or the person who actually made a contribution?’

‘This is interesting ethical territory,’ Gareth notes.

‘You know, I met this twenty-something editorial assistant at a shoot the other day and though her salary is tiny she supports her favourite YouTube filmmaker via Patreon – six quid a month and it makes her feel like a patron of the arts!’ May notes.

I listen as the ideas ping around, tapping notes into my phone, feeling like we’re really on to something.

Eventually my head is spinning so much I dip out to prepare the dragon fruit. I find a strange satisfaction slicing into the magenta pink, artichoke-like outer layer to reveal the bright white flesh, speckled with tiny black seeds.

‘Look how pretty you are!’

‘Are you talking to the fruit?’

I turn to find Jay behind me.

‘I just ask because that’s the chattiest you’ve been all night.’

‘What? I just came up with a whole new campaign for work!’

‘Aside from that you were totally zoning out. Don’t think I didn’t notice.’

‘Well,’ I sigh. ‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind.’

‘No joy with the flat-hunting?’

‘I’m taking a break from that at the moment. It turns out you can’t look for love and flats simultaneously or your head will explode.’

‘Don’t forget you need a new bra too,’ May chimes in as she comes in search of glasses for the liqueur.

‘Are you trying to push me over the edge?’

‘Oh, let me make you a custom one!’ Jay enthuses. ‘The structuring on the bridesmaid dress worked a treat, didn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I confess.

‘I think lifting your boobs could really help lift your mood.’

‘That sounds like an idea for a Netflix series,’ May sniggers as she sets the glasses on a wooden tray. ‘The life-changing magic of underwear.’

‘We could go out into the street and rip people’s shirts open like Superman.’

‘Really?’ I query.

As we head back to the safari camp the pair of them banter excitedly about the possibilities of episodes for the trans community and post-surgery options. And clothing alternatives for people who find Spanx too hot.

‘Now that one I would watch,’ I concede.

*

You wouldn’t think a fruit as striking as the dragon fruit could be easily upstaged but when Marcus pours the Amarula liqueur and explains that it is made from the native marula fruit which contains four times as much vitamin C as an orange, it quickly becomes the darling of the hour. Even my abstaining self asks for a top-up – it’s like a fruity Baileys. Charlotte says it has a pear vibe, Marcus says butterscotch, to me it tastes like strawberries.

‘Just one more,’ I say, knocking it back like Yoplait.

‘One of our guides says it acts like truth serum because the alcohol part sneaks up on you.’

I notice that Gareth sets down his glass even quicker than me.

‘Hey, Amy.’ Charlotte slurs slightly as she twirls the corkscrew. ‘Did you ever get your mattress? You were on a mission before the wedding . . .’

Great. Yet another thing eluding me. ‘I’m still looking,’ I reply. ‘I thought I’d found The One but it didn’t pan out.’

I share a glance with May, the only one I told about Matt the Mattress Guy.

‘I got mine custom-made and it wasn’t half as expensive as you might think,’ Gareth notes.

‘That’s so funny, we were just talking about custom—’

‘Ssssh!’ I hush Jay. My boobs do not need to be part of this conversation. ‘Carry on, Gareth.’

‘Well, if you’d have accepted my offer the other night, you’d know how comfortable it is.’

There’s a flutter around the table.

‘I slept on the sofa,’ I hurriedly explain. ‘When my mum had her fall.’

‘Well, you’re welcome to try it anytime.’

Can someone start a new conversational thread? I can feel my face getting hot.

‘Did we tell you about the bed we slept on when we were glamping in Kruger?’

Oh, thank you, Marcus!

As he describes their treehouse hideaway with a big bridal veil of a mosquito net, I realise Charlotte is trying to telepathically tell me to take up Gareth’s offer. And I think she means now. I let my eyes glaze over and absently reach for the water carafe. But the next thing I know she’s behind me, geeing me up and asking, ‘Who wants tea?’

‘You just had an invitation into his bedroom!’ she hisses as we weave back to the kitchen. ‘What bigger opportunity do you want?’

‘I know, I know!’

‘I think this is the closest he’s ever come to flirting,’ she marvels, definitely more than tipsy.

‘Why does none of this make sense?’

‘Because you won’t talk to him about it.’

‘Why do I have to be the one? He’s known this whole time—’

‘Oh Gareth! Remind me where you keep the teabags!’ Charlotte trills.

I reach for the fridge handle and stick my head fully inside. ‘Is everyone okay with oat milk?’

‘Why don’t you let me do this?’ Charlotte nudges my rear with her hip. ‘You check out Gareth’s mattress. I think the sooner you resolve this, the better.’

‘Agreed,’ he says. ‘I don’t like the idea of you sleeping on a bed of nails.’

Really? Okay. Here we go! I adopt a businesslike tone as I follow him into his bedroom. ‘So, let’s talk specs.’

‘Sex?’ he startles.

‘Specs,’ I overenunciate. ‘As in specifications?’ I then briskly interrogate him on what motivated his decision to go custom, how he found craftsman Aidan, the length of the construction period, yada yada . . .

Meanwhile Gareth unpings his fitted sheet and shows me the tufting. ‘You can have any pattern on this top layer, though of course it will always be covered. Hop on board!’

‘It’s pretty high – I think I’d need a stepladder to get up!’

‘Here,’ he says, boosting me into position.

I think the only lift we haven’t done this month is over-the-shoulder fireman style. Mind you, there’s still time.

‘Now you know I’m not typically a fan of technology.’

‘I do.’

‘But with all the years of stooping to tend to my plants my back demanded I try out one of the adjustable frames. Do you mind?’ he says, asking my permission to join me.

‘Go ahead.’

‘So if you lie back . . .’ He takes the remote, there is a whirring sound and we are tilted at the head and the knees. ‘It is better for lower back pain than lying on a flat mattress.’

‘Gareth?’

‘Yes?’

‘I have a question.’

‘I know what you’re going to ask. What happens if you turn onto your side in the night.’

‘It’s not about the mattress.’

A pause. ‘Okay . . .’

‘It’s about the wedding.’

I sense him tensing.

I can’t think of a single way to phrase what I need to ask so I rely on visual props – taking the photo out of my top pocket and handing it to him.

‘What’s this?’ He frowns and then his face softens. For a moment he looks nostalgic, dreamy even. ‘How . . .’

‘Apparently Marcus was sent to photograph the staircase with Charlotte’s mini camera and there we were.’

Still he stares at the picture.

‘Why didn’t you say it was you?’ I ask. My voice is barely a whisper.

He looks up but not at me. ‘I knew I wasn’t the happy ending so why would it matter?’

‘What do you mean?’ I try to turn towards him but the tilt of the mattress is not conducive. ‘Can you straighten this out? Or raise the top a bit higher?’

He fumbles with the remote, jolting us up and down. At one point our feet elevate and our heads rock back like we are on a rollercoaster designed by a gynaecologist.

‘Sorry!’

‘Can’t you just tell me what happened?’ I despair.

‘Amy—’

‘Just blurt it all out so at least I know! You’re the only one who can help me make sense of all this!’

Finally he presses the right button and we level out. I take a breath and turn to face him, telling myself I can hold it together no matter what he says, but I’m not sure that’s true.

‘You were tending to my cut,’ he begins, tracing his finger over the scar on his lip. ‘You got tissues from the ladies’ and led me over to the stairs so you could be at the right height to see the wound. Even though you were pretty tipsy, you were taking so much care.’

The memory returns to me – pushing through the girls doing their lipstick and mirror selfies, collecting the tissues from the silver box dispenser, letting the tap water stream over my fingers and half the tissues, keeping the other half dry. Hurrying to his side. Standing level with him. Holding his face steady with one hand. Dabbing with the other. Leaning in. All my attention on his beautiful mouth.

He looks down at the photograph. ‘There was a point when everything just sort of stopped.’

Yes, I see it now – my eyes meeting his. A new understanding, a new connection. A melting sensation.

‘We kissed,’ he says, a slight crack to his voice. ‘And then you started to cry.’

My hand goes to my cheek. He’s right – amid the flood of love, there are tears streaming down my face.

‘I knew in that moment that you’d had a bad premonition. And it was over.’

Over?

‘So I made my excuses and went up to my room. But then I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep so I went out walking in the grounds.’

‘In the dark?’

He nods. ‘I got kind of lost, ended up sleeping propped up against the base of a tree. I found my way back when the sun came up.’

No wonder he looked so rough the next morning. We put it down to Freya’s wedding but it was me.

‘When I walked into the Lilac Room and heard you had kissed all these other guys and that one of them was the good premonition . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘I just wanted to remove myself from the running and get out of there.’

‘But you didn’t say you were one of the kisses!’

‘I couldn’t go there – I didn’t think I could play it off like I didn’t care. I was still so thrown by the whole thing.’

I stare at him dumbfounded.

‘Charlotte even asked me about it in the car. I couldn’t face any more questions so I took a flight to Edinburgh to see my dad, thinking it would all be resolved by the time I got back.’

I reach forward and prod his leg.

‘What’s that for?’

‘I’m just checking this is real and that you’re actually saying what I think you’re saying and it’s not just me hearing what I want to hear.’

‘What I’m saying is . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m glad it’s Ben and not Tristan. But I wish it had been me. Even with a busted lip I would’ve kissed you because I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first day I walked into that classroom and you smiled at me like you already knew me.’

My heart plunges in my chest.

‘Gareth . . .’ I shuffle closer.

‘Yes?’

‘When I cried at our kiss—’

‘You don’t have to explain yourself and I’m not sure I want to know what happened in the premonition.’

I rest my hand on his. ‘Those weren’t sad tears.’

He blinks back at me. ‘What do you mean?’

My heart is rattling with nerves as I continue. ‘I was crying because I was so happy. Because it was you.’ I feel my eyes well up with emotion. ‘Because it’s always been you.’

Gareth looks stunned. ‘Wait – I was the good premonition? I was the good premonition?’ he repeats, seemingly warming to the idea.

‘The really good premonition,’ I confirm.

I watch as the clouds lift from his face. His brow smooths out and his lips part. He looks like he’s going to speak but instead he swoops in and kisses me with dizzying intensity.

I feel light-headed. For once I can fully surrender to a kiss, free of dread, free of disappointment, fully able to feel the love.

‘Amy,’ he whispers my name as we come up for air.

For what seems like minutes we just look into each other’s eyes, taking each other in in a whole new, enchanted way.

As he smooths back my hair, I feel myself smiling, then really beaming. And now he is too. And then he’s kissing me again and this time my whole body gets swept up in the bliss.

‘Are you decent?’ Jay bursts in, then jumps back. ‘Jeez, when you invited her to test the bed . . .’

‘Did you need something?’ Gareth asks, cool as a cucumber.

‘What? Oh! There’s some guy at the door, I’ll tell him to come back. You’re clearly busy.’

‘Some guy who?’ Gareth calls after him.

‘Some next-door guy.’

Gareth and I look at each other and then scrabble to our feet, lunging past Jay and charging down the corridor.

‘Mr Atkins!’ we cheer in unison.

‘I just wanted to ask one more time, just in case—’

‘Yes, yes!’ we fall over each other. ‘Where do we sign, what can we do? Do you need us to go to the bank now?’

‘Really?’ He looks amazed. ‘You two are on the same page now?’

‘Yes!’ Gareth asserts.

‘Finally!’ I sigh.

He beams back at us. ‘That’s all I needed to hear. We can sort the paperwork tomorrow.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ We reach forward to hug him.

‘Now, now, there’s no need to get carried away,’ he chuckles. ‘I’m just glad my home is going to a good home.’

‘It is! We’re going to love it so much!’ Our arms instinctively wrap around each other like we’ve been a couple for years.

We watch him leave and then turn to face each other.

‘Did we just buy a house together?’

‘This is the best day ever!’

In my excitement I jump up into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, and we succumb to our most ardent kiss to date. We have so much lost time to make up for. My hand slips under his shirt, eager to connect with the warmth of his skin—

‘Excuse me!’

We look up to see Charlotte beside us. I’d forgotten we had company.

‘I’m sorry, but you guys have got the rest of your lives to do that. Like, literally. We need you in the garden.’

Gareth and I look confused but when we get there we see May and Jay and Charlotte and Marcus gathered around a bottle of champagne.

‘Where did that come from?’ Gareth frowns.

‘I hid it at the back of the fridge when we first got here.’ Marcus gives me a wink. ‘I had a feeling we’d be celebrating.’

I beam back at him and then at each one of my friends before snaking my arm around Gareth and cheering, ‘Pop that cork!’