Page 129 of The Wedding Forecast

Hayley is in the line a few people behind Patrick, even though I have already given her a signed copy of the book at home, so she’s clearly only lining up so we can gossip.

‘Oh my god, Mac is here,’ she hisses. ‘Why is he here? What the hell?’

‘I don’t know,’ I hiss back.

She leans across the table and grips my arms. ‘Did you know he was coming?’

‘No!’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘What about Patrick?’

‘I don’t know!’

Hayley’s eyes are shining, and she’s grinning. She finds this level of drama irresistible. This is when she is most Bobbi’s daughter. ‘The mums are freaking out,’ she says.

‘Don’t let them talk to anyone.’

‘Too late.’

‘Get me a wine, please,’ I say, writing something illegible in her copy of the book on the wrong page, forgetting to sign my name, and not caring. ‘And don’t let Patrick or Mac or Joel or Bianca or my parents or Bobbi interact.’

‘Oh my god, Joel,’ she says, shaking her head with obvious delight. ‘Why is he here?’

I don’t bother mentioning I invited him. I shoo her away.

The signing line carries on, and I can see Mac right at the end, holding my book. He looks more handsome than ever. I am so focused on him I don’t realise the next person stepping up to me is Marco, my old boss. I did not invite him. He must have heard about the launch from the other co-workers I invited.

‘Anna!’ he says, throwing his arms wide, like I would be happy to see him.

‘Marco,’ I say, trying to muster enthusiasm.

‘Polo!’ he says back gleefully, and my eyes go over his shoulder to meet Mac’s. He is struggling not to laugh. I sign Marco’s book as quickly as possible, deflecting his questions about where I am working now, barely listening to him at all, because I don’t have to anymore.

And, there, finally, is Mac.

‘Hey,’ he says. He looks nervous.

‘Hi,’ I say, and I swallow hard, because I feel like I’m going to burst into tears. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I told you I wanted to come to your book launch.’

I stand up, walk around the table, and hug him. He smells how I remember him smelling. No, he smells better. He hugs me back, he hugs me too much, and I step back, acutely aware that Patrick and my parents and who knows who else are watching.

‘What are you really doing here?’

‘I wanted a signed copy.’ He keeps giving me his crinkly-eyed smile. I still feel like crying, but under that, I’m getting angry too. I don’t want to feel anything for him.

‘I could have sent you one,’ I say.

‘International postage is so expensive these days.’

‘Thank you for the savings.’ I pause. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’

‘Well, I am.’