Free The One Who Got Away by Caroline Overington

and sophisticated milk crates for tables … can’t you just see it?’
    Sophisticated milk crates? I could not see it. ‘Where would people put their plates?’
    â€˜On their laps,’ said J.J. Kim, exasperated. ‘This isn’t going to be a chicken-and-beef wedding you know, Loren. This isn’t going to be people sitting at a round table with a white cloth, a glass of Merlot and a bread roll. This is going to be something special. Delicate dishes. Tasting spoons!’
    â€˜Tasting spoons?’ said Molly. ‘Our dad is six-foot-seven and shaped like a queen-bed mattress. You’re going to have to give him more than a tasting spoon, especially since he’s going to be paying.’
    â€˜He’s what?’ If my expression was anything like J.J. Kim’s, we must have looked like two open-mouthed dolls at a sideshow carnival.
    â€˜Your father is paying?’ said J.J., aghast.
    â€˜Oh no,’ I said. ‘Oh, Molly, surely not.’
    * * *
    A few days later I was having dinner at Dad and Val’s. It’s a house I know well, because throughout my childhood I spent occasional weekends there, sleeping on a trundle on the floor near Molly’s bed, as part of the custody arrangement my parents worked out.
    Dad was seated where he pretty much always sits, in the recliner near the flat screen TV I’d bought for him for the most recent Father’s Day, to replace the big box they’d had for years.
    We’d all finished eating (actually, my father and Val had finished eating; I was on J.J.’s famed wedding diet) and I had stayed in the kitchen long enough to pretend to dry the dishes, but Val’s not silly.
    â€˜Go talk to him,’ she whispered.
    I nodded, and went to find Dad. He was well into his nightly routine – feet up, crime novel open – but he took his feet down from the ottoman when he saw me coming.
    â€˜Wedding of the Century,’ he said. ‘Impressive.’
    â€˜That was a stupid thing for the Bugle to write,’ I said, fiddling nervously with my engagement diamond.
    â€˜When does a newspaper not write something stupid?’ Dad said. ‘But the main thing is, I don’t want you worried, Loren. Whatever you’re planning, I’ve got it covered.’
    Oh, my goodness, he so did not have it covered.
    I took a deep breath. ‘Well, here’s the thing, Dad, you don’t have to pay.’
    By this stage, Val had come out of the kitchen, carrying two cups of tea on saucers, with plain biscuits.
    â€˜What are you talking about?’ said Dad, taking the cup. ‘We’ve planned for this day, haven’t we, Val?’
    Val did her best to smile but she looked terrified. ‘Indeed we have.’
    I thought, Oh, God bless you two, but really?
    â€˜Please listen, Dad,’ I said, as he took his first sip of tea. ‘There are a lot of people on David’s side … people that I’ve never even met, people who are clients, who apparently have to come to this wedding, and we obviously don’t expect you to pay for people that I – let alone you – don’t even know.’
    Dad picked up one of his biscuits and had a nibble. ‘Why are they coming if you don’t know them?’
    â€˜Because,’ I said, ‘it’s good for business. David has these clients. He calls them the Big Fish. Big catches. He makes big money from them. They have to come because, you know, if they get invited, it makes them feel special. It’s a way of showing them they have a personal relationship with David, that he’s not just interested in them for their money.’
    â€˜But isn’t that the truth? He is only interested in them for their money, surely,’ said Dad, nibbling some more. ‘Why does he have to pretend to be their friend?’
    I thought, You old bastard. You’re not stupid. You know exactly what I’m trying to