Page 113 of Cover Story

Connor accurately judged that shushing was the only option until it subsided. When she’d regained enough self-control tomake conversation possible, he said: ‘Honestly? No, I don’t think the precise mechanics of what you and Anthony did and didn’t do needed discussing right now.’

‘I was such an arsehole to Tim, Connor. Everything he said was right. I am a piece of shit!’

Connor squeezed her supportively. ‘You fucked-up, agreed. But you arenota piece of shit.’

‘Thank you,’ Bel said, looking up with a bleary face.

‘Bel,’ Connor said, ‘I’ve been one of your harshest critics …’

‘You’re only scraping into the top ten at this point, I think,’ Bel said, wiping under her eyes.

‘… Therefore you can trust my judgement. Something can be not your finest hour without defining you.’

‘I should’ve told Tim everything on the day we split up.’

‘Except that would’ve made a horrible day of his life even more horrific and as you said, it would’ve probably stopped your families staying friends. If it was an ex who you were never going to see again it would’ve been different. You two have different responsibilities to each other. You did what you thought was right. When people say you should tell the truth at all costs, they forget it’s also about whopaysthe cost.’

‘Thank you. You’re so wise. But I did do what Tim said. Who am I if I could do that to someone who loved me?’

‘You’re human.’

‘A shit human.’

‘A superlative human. Look it up, it means really good.’

Bel smiled into his bare shoulder, damp with her tears. She had an odd feeling that Connor’s body was still but his mind was whirring, but with what, she had no idea. She had the oddest sense he was purposely blocking the signal.

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‘You know our prior deal about not taking things the wrong way?’ Connor said.

‘Oh God WHAT?’ Bel said, barefoot in her dress and having only lip-linered her lips, stopping still in the middle of the room. ‘We established that only ever means: bullshit incoming.’

‘You look incredibly nice but also not you-ish, somehow?’

‘Because I look incredibly nice??!’

‘NO, oh God, I knew I shouldn’t have tried “nuance”,’ Connor said, and their warm bickering felt coupleish as hell.

Bel had tried to stifle the up-down swoop of her heart at the sight of Connor in a dark, ink-blue suit: the man was custom-designed to suit tailoring.

Bel was in a dress with a black bodice and matching tulle skirt. It had reminded her of ballet lessons as a kid.

‘You look absolutely lovely, OK? Just not as “Bel” as Bel usually does.’

‘Hmmm …’ Bel hooked a black suede peep toe over her foot. ‘I admit it was an Undercover Bella purchase.’

He could never know this but she had started to worry she was sub-consciously dressing for his gaze.

‘See! I could tell! I am fully exonerated.’

‘I’m not sure about “fully”. I still recall therecoilingfrom me you did on your first day.’

‘Hahahaha. You have to admit your look that morning was very “Helena Bonham Carter via the police cell drunk tank”.’

Bel mimed throwing her other shoe at him and he ducked.

The peach-themed ceremony took place in a plush drawing room with a solo violinist, the reception moving to the ballroom for a wedding breakfast of pie and mash because the groom, David, loved pies and hated fuss and it was one of those weddings where it was a series of bride vs groom trade-offs. Such as speeches, but no first dance.

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