Page 19 of Fighting Mr. Knight

I nod, visualising those two hard mounds. My training tactic is to find a good ass and chase it.

“Maybe we should train together, go for a few runs around the old haunts in East London,” he says casually. “I used to run past your house when I lived in the area.”

My body goes rigid. Does he mean the house I grew up in that got repossessed? “Do you mean Brook Close?”

He looks at me funny. “Yeah, of course.”

I relax a fraction. He isn’t such a sicko to suggest running past the house ripped out from under us. Brook Close is where Mum and I moved in with Phil, my stepdad.

Kate and I grew up within a one-mile radius of the Knights which in London is probably a million people, but in that area, it still feels like a small town.

“Sorry, I’m already part of a running club.”

“Okay.” He shrugs, unfazed. “The offer’s always open.”

Kate saves me. “Come help me, will you, Bonnie?”

***

“There she is,” Kate says between gritted teeth as we enter the wedding reception marquee.

Kate’s soon-to-be mother-in-law is deep in conversation with a pursed-lipped wedding planner, jabbing fingers at walls and tables. Mrs. Knight rules the wedding like a benevolent dictator. Kate is allowed some liberty on matters of lesser importance, such as underwear, but Mrs. Knight has absolute authority.

Thanks to her, my new name has stuck, and I am now referred to as “the other bridesmaid”by the entire wedding crew.

“What the fuck is she saying to my wedding planner? She’s got her nose in everything. I need to separate them. Go put these on the top table, will you?”

I take the wreaths of greenery from her and head off.

The marquee could host a small rock concert. Kate and I didn’t talk about finances, but I have a feeling that Jack is bankrolling the entire event.

I glance up at the tent wall, confused.

“Excuse me.” I stop a girl affixing ribbons on seats. “Do you know where the mosaic went?”

“The what?”

“The large collage of the bride and groom? It was hung up there.”

“Oh. Mrs. Knight had it taken down.”

“Why?”

She shrugs, bored. “I dunno. She said something about it being out of place. Distasteful? Maybe ask her.”

I go completely still. Sean’s mum said it was distasteful?

I spent hours after work every night for weeks collectingpictures throughout every year that they were together to create that mosaic. I wanted to get them something unique and personal. Kate had wanted it mounted for the wedding reception.

The girl looks at me strangely and I return a strained smile before chucking the rest of the wreaths onto the top table.

Was Kate lying when she said she loved it? Maybe she was just being nice. Like with the fake tan, she couldn’t say no.

I won’t push it. It’s Kate and Sean’s day, it’s about what makes them happy, and Kate is too stressed right now to mention it.

I message Kate and tell her I’ll be back in forty-five. I need to be alone.

A familiar voice right outside the tent stops me in my tracks.

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