Zoe launches herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck and very nearly pulling my head off. It feels like my spine is about to snap, but this warm forgiving body pressed close against my own is more than I could have hoped for – more than I deserve – so if ever there was a time to dig deep and man up, this is it.
‘Missed you,’ I say, hugging her tight and relieving some of the torque on my skeleton.
‘Yes,’ Zoe says, appearing to miss the strain in my voice. ‘I missed you, too.’
‘Get – a – room.’
Vicky is looking at me over the top of her sunglasses; her bloodshot eyes are hard to read, a combination of resentment and resignation perhaps.
‘Got one,’ I tell her, over Zoe’s shoulder.
‘Come again?’
‘Complicated story,’ I say.
Zoe relaxes her grip around my neck, and I lower her to her feet. ‘Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,’ she says, but she’s still smiling. I barely had time to register the fact before she launched herself at me, but she’s had a haircut since I last saw her. And not a good one.
‘This is . . . interesting,’ I say, brushing my fingers through her hair.
‘Complicated story,’ she says.
‘So. How was the wedding?’
She’s only been out of the country for two nights, but Zoe answers with an authentic but endearing Gallic shrug.
‘Well, I’m never drinking again,’ says Vicky, ‘that’s for sure.’
‘I hear that,’ I tell her.
‘Been partying?’ says Vicky, a note of derision in her voice.
‘I’ve got the car,’ I say. ‘Let’s get your bags and I’ll tell you all about it.’
Zoe raises her eyebrows. ‘You have a car?’
‘It’s . . .’
‘Yeah, I get it,’ says Vicky. ‘Complicated.’