Don't Come Looking AJ Campbell (best biographies to read .TXT) 📖

out together, just the two of you. At least you can have a couple of drinks.’

I finger a sparkling line of eighteenth bunting gently flapping in between the eucalyptus trees. ‘You’ve decorated the place beautifully.’

‘Pen, Art and the kids pitched in this morning, and family have brought food which has helped. More teenagers have turned up than Harry told me about, though, which is slightly worrying. I thought he was only inviting a couple of his closest friends, but it’s turned out to be a lot more than that. I’m thankful the weather has been kind to us. It’s all going to plan. Well, nearly.’ She leans over and whispers regretfully in my ear. ‘If only Marc were here.’

A group of guests gather by the food, nibbling cocktail sausages and sandwiches, mini pizzas and Annie’s sausage rolls. Harry’s friends and a few older couples surround a makeshift bar: a sheet-covered table with a garland of balloons, threaded with tiny lights, draped across the front. On top sits a selection of spirits and behind is an old bookshelf stocked with different sized glasses. Pen is jiggling a cocktail shaker beside a tall, middle-aged man with dark, gelled hair who I’m guessing must be Pete. His shirt is half unbuttoned, displaying a chest of grey fur.

‘I’ll show you to the speakers and you can start your music, Jim.’ Sasha leads us off towards the action, leaving Art to guard the entrance.

‘Eva! Eva!’ Hannah calls out, waving me over. ‘Come and try this, it’s delicious.’ Standing behind the pearly gates for sugar cravers, Hannah is waving a bamboo skewer stabbed into what looks like a chunk of peanut brittle. There’s a chocolate fountain on the table and trays of marshmallows, chopped fruit, and mini donuts iced with different coloured toppings. Another girl is standing with her, spinning sugar in a candyfloss maker. She’s wearing a blue gingham pinafore and has her hair in plaits like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.

Annie is there too, impeccably turned out, holding a glass of fizz. ‘Look at you – what a fabulous dress. You must have got that from somewhere special!’ She gives a wink and a cocky smile.

‘I’m pleased with it, thanks.’ And I mean it. Jim had commented on it too, saying how nice it is to see me out of my uniform jeans and shirt.

‘The shoes look OK too,’ she says.

I silently will her not to ask about a bag. I couldn’t find one earlier, so I chucked everything I need into the back of Jim’s wheelchair rucksack.

‘This is Grace, my bestie,’ Hannah says, introducing me to her friend. She twizzles the peanut brittle under the liquid chocolate before passing it to me. I don’t fancy her offering, it’s an unsuitable complement for the fizz, but I don’t want to offend her.

‘The marshmallows are my favourite,’ she declares, loading another skewer with pink and white sugary fluff. ‘Want to try one, Annie?’

‘Maybe later,’ Annie says, running a hand over her flat tummy.

I take a bite of the sugar overdose as Luke springs up with a camera and insists we hold still for a second or two. Hannah stiffens. She pulls her shoulders back and sticks her chest out as he shoots away. ‘Would you mind moving behind the table please, Eva?’ he asks me. ‘I want one of the four of you together.’ I oblige, gritting my teeth. Posing for photos is not my favourite thing. Luke works the lens. He lunges forward and nudges me on the shoulder. ‘Move in, closer, closer,’ he says, ‘that’s it, just right, stay there.’ Hannah stifles her giggles as he crouches down and snaps away. ‘Thanks,’ he says, springing up and giving us a wave of gratitude before gliding along to his next target.

Grace nudges Hannah as she joins the tips of her thumbs and forefingers into the shape of a heart and pumps it in Luke’s direction. Hannah slaps her friend’s hands.

‘He’s very enthusiastic, isn’t he?’ I say to Annie.

‘He’s always been into photography. Since he was this high.’ She drops her palm towards the ground. ‘My brother bought him a cheap camera for Christmas one year. He wouldn’t put it down – even took it to bed with him.’ She laughs with fondness at the memory. ‘The amount we spent on paper and ink getting all his photos printed cost us more than the bloody thing itself.’ She takes a sip of her drink. ‘He wanted to study photography at university.’

‘Media,’ says Hannah, blushing. ‘He wants to study media.’

‘Yes, yes, that’s the word,’ Annie says, nodding. ‘But Art and I,’ she pats Hannah’s shoulder, ‘and your dad too, managed to persuade him that computers are the way forward. I have to say, they’ve been his thing since he was little too. We said to him, there’s more money in computers than cameras. We’re right, aren’t we?’ She doesn’t sound too sure. ‘He can come back to his photography any time.’

‘Who does he get his talent from?’ I ask.

‘Who knows!’ she says, waving to someone. ‘My husband wants me.’ Off she totters in her shiny heels that I would refuse to own, even if she’d thrown them in with my dress for free.

A group of teenagers approach the table, and I leave them to Hannah and her sweet delights to go in search of Jim. A shrill voice calls out my name. I turn to see Pen beckoning me over towards the bar. ‘We’re swamped here. Couldn’t help for a while, could you? Until the rush dies down. I agreed to hand around these glasses of Prosecco.’

Swiping an apron hooked around the frame of the bookshelf behind her, she presses it into my chest. ‘Have you met Pete, my husband?’ She prods his arm. ‘Pete, this is Sasha’s friend, the copper. You remember me telling you about her?’

He pauses pouring vodka and looks me up and down as if to determine my suitability for the role his wife has bullied me into. That one look