Page 57 of Love or Your Money Back

‘Are you alright?’ Marcus ventures. ‘I’ve never heard you use the word love before.’

‘I’m just a bit overheated.’ Freddy removes Marcus’s arm from his shoulder. ‘Look, I need to get back to London. We’ll catch up another time. Alright?’

‘Yes, sure,’ says Marcus. ‘And maybe you could put in a good word for me with Katerina –’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’ Freddy strides across the lawn, dialling Kat’s number again.

Pick up. Pick up.

She still doesn’t.

Freddy picks up pace instead. He needs a fast taxi back to London. Petrol-powered, none of this Nissan Leaf 60mph electric shit –

‘YOU!’

Chris weaves towards Freddy, grasping an empty lager bottle. He is still wearing a moth-eaten was-once-black-but-is-now-grey suit jacket and a top hat so threadbare it would make a tramp feel ashamed.

Apparently, Chris has found liquid courage in the beer bottle. Despite his unsteady footing, his shoulders are back and one fist is clenched. He has clearly forgotten what he knew when he half walked, half ran away earlier: that Freddy is fitter and stronger than he is.

Oh no.

There’s going to be a fight.

A fight Freddy doesn’t have time for.

CHAPTER39

As Chris approaches Freddy, bystanders make a circle like children in a school playground. It’s an interesting insight into human nature. Despite the gentrified civility of the top hats and flowery dresses, people still want to see a fight kicking off.

‘Get out of the way, Chris,’ says Freddy, as calmly as he can manage. ‘Kat’s having a relapse, and I should be with her.’

‘Where is she?’

‘None of your business.’

‘Let me tell you something, Don Draper.’ Chris jabs a finger. ‘You think you can set Kat up with some posh twat and she’ll live happily ever after? News flash. She doesn’t fit all this.’ He gestures to one surprised, top-hatted observer, eating strawberries like popcorn. ‘I know you’re having fun dressing her up like a doll. But it’s not her. Iknowher.’

‘You don’t know her at all,’ says Freddy. ‘If you did, you’d see that all I did was bring out what was inside all along. You treated her like utter crap, Chris. You used her when she was vulnerable then dumped her when her illness became too much trouble. She’s been judging her worth by your behaviour for years. But not anymore. You’ve blown it. She’s not on your fishhook. She’s free.’

A cheer goes up from the crowd, and someone throws a strawberry at Chris’s top hat. Chris doesn’t like this. He drops his beer bottle, then grabs a baguette from an unsuspecting picnic goer and waves it like a club, face contorted with rage.

Freddy would usually be sharper, but due to excessive alcohol, he’s as dull as a safety manual for bubble wrap. So Chris manages to bash Freddy’s face a few times with the crusty baguette edge.

Eventually, Freddy comes to his senses and gives Chris an elegant punch on the jaw. Chris falls to the floor, the baguette coming to a harmless stop by Freddy’s Gucci loafer. A loaf by a loafer. This thought would make Freddy laugh if he weren’t so very unhappy.

Another cheer goes up.

‘You hit me.’ Chris groans from the lawn.

‘Yep.’ Freddy looks down at Chris, flexing his fist. ‘And there’s plenty more where that came from. Leave Kat alone. Do you hear me? She deserves better.’

Chris doesn’t say anything else. Which is sensible.

Freddy pushes his way to the exit. When he reaches the car park, he starts sprinting. He should never have left Kat to get back to London by herself. He has a terrible feeling that she’s not okay.

CHAPTER40

Thank God Freddy made me take a taxi. Within thirty minutes of leaving Ascot, the whole left side of my body becomes a burning furnace. The taxi driver made cheery small talk for a while, but my slurred voice made so little sense that he gave up. I’m guessing he assumed I was drunk. That’s what everyone thinks when a single, thirty-something woman slurs her words. And actually, I prefer it. People are a lot less pitying of drunk people. I can’t stand pity.

---