The Walk of Shame

Two.

TheWedding Before

Weddings had changed. In just two years since Evie left Gosthwaite to work in Indonesia, they'd changed and she stepped into the marquee, utterly sure she'd walked into the Great British Bake Off.

'Mum,' Evie asked, taking a glass of prosecco from a smiling waitress, 'when did matrimonial events go all mismatched crockery and afternoon tea?'

Her mum fanned herself with a beer mat, glancing around before smiling. 'Oh, there's you're uncle Mark. I'll be back in a sec.'

The last wedding Evie attended was an extravaganza of gilded chairs, champagne by the shore, three courses of exorbitant but dubiously executed salmon parfait, pan-fried chicken and raspberry panacotta. But none of that for Lianne and Dale's wedding. Evie pushed aside the bunting draped over a window and pressed her lips together, stemming her giggles. On the field outside was a fish and chip stall, dishing out lunch in newspaper cones, and beside it, an ice cream van – a retro cool fifties number. And for someone who'd spent two years out of England it was... killing Evie.

Oh who was she kidding, she wasn't stemming giggles; she was stemming tears – homesick, glad to be back in Blighty and eating chips tears.

Christ, she had to get a grip. Being back in England might be awesome, but she couldn't keep welling up at the mere sight of a cup of bloody tea – with milk in.

Shaking her head a little, banishing emotional overkill, she glanced across to the bar where her elder brother, Ryan, was ordering pints for the groom's party. Ah, a pint. One British tradition that wouldn't reduce her to tears was a pint – a real pint with a head on it. Bintang might've won her over in the end, but dear god... the bar had Garter Belt, a beer specially brewed for Lianne and Dale's wedding. Why the hell was Evie drinking fizzy wine when she could have real ale? She didn't even like fizzy wine. Put a girl in heels and look what happens – she forgets her roots.

Evie dumped her untouched glass on the nearest trestle table, but her heel, skittish on the polished wooden floor, made her pause. Lianne and Dale knew everyone. Who would actually be at this reception – she hadn't seen him at the wedding, but would Ali be there? Or any of his extended family? He and Dale used to be pretty close.

Hell, it'd been two years since she'd broken up with Ali. Two years. Surely it'd be okay... Maybe no one even cared anymore about what she—

'You look like you need a hand walking in those shoes.' A gentle hand took her arm and guided her towards the bar.

Evie glanced up. Nate Hadley-Brown. Why was Nate Hadley-Brown smiling at her like that? In the twenty-odd years he'd been her elder brother's best mate, he'd barely acknowledged Evie's existence, so for him to even be speaking to her was a bit of a turn up for the books.

Oh lord, what if he hadn't realised just whose small of the back he had his hand pressed against.

'Hi,' she offered. It was weak at best.

And in Nate's in his defence, most of the wedding party hadn't realised who she was either. The Evie Craig from two years ago would mostly likely be found wearing jeans, Converse trainers and an oversized beanie, so the Evie Craig who stepped off a red double-decker bus, ten miles from Windermere, was a bit of a surprise. That said, the shocking pink high heels with black and white polka dot playsuit were alien to her too, impulse buys from Ted Baker she could ill-afford, but utterly necessary to face the scrutiny of the entire village, to face up to her reputation as the bitch that broke Alistair Johnston's heart.

'Evie-Jeebie?' her brother called, frowning towards her. 'Christ, you've scrubbed up.'

Clearly she did look nothing like the two-years ago Evie. Nate's arm instantly fell away and Evie felt for him. Yeah, it's just Evie. Your best mate's little sister.