“Poker?” I say.
“With just two of us?”
“It can be done. Texas Hold’em? Though . . .” I suddenly wish I’d not suggested it. “I don’t want to play for money,” I add, embarrassed.
“Of course not,” Izzy says, like the very thought is ridiculous. “Though we’re on a train, so strip poker is out.”
The idea that strip poker might otherwise be in throws me. She digs around in her rucksack and produces a small box of raisins, the sort you might give to a child as a snack.
“Chips,” she says, opening the box. “Whoever’s up by Waterloo gets to choose how we decorate the lobby?”
“I don’t want to decorate the lobby any more than it is decorated right now,” I say, frowning.
“Exactly. Whereas I think we are seriously lacking in tinsel.”
She smiles at me and I swallow.
“You up for a challenge?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say, reaching for the cards.
* * *
? ? ? ? ?
I try to be magnanimous for the journey from Waterloo to Little Venice. I knew Izzy would be terrible at poker. Everything is always written all over her face. She takes losing extremely badly, just as I would expect, and sulks the entire way to Shannon’s flat.
The woman who greets us when we arrive is wearing a large hat that reads, Thank u, next. I look beyond her to the open-plan living area to find that everyone inside is wearing the same. The music is pounding already, though it’s only lunchtime.
“I don’t know you,” says the woman in the doorway. “Did he send you? If so, tell him Shannon has every fucking right to—”
“Nobody sent us,” Izzy says quickly. “Shannon invited us. We’re here about a ring?”
“Oh!” The woman’s face lights up. “Come on in, she’s in the kitchen working on the cake.”
Izzy’s sulking expression has been replaced with the bright, fascinated look she wears when she’s truly enjoying herself. She is a bad loser, but she is also very easily distracted.
Shannon is a tall blonde woman wearing a sequinned dress with an apron over the top. My first impression on entering the pristine kitchen is that she looks like a housewife from an American TV show. However, the cake she is icing is shaped like a penis, which does throw this image out a little.
“Hello,” she says, putting down her icing pen and wiping her hands on her apron. “You must be Lucas! Did you bring your girlfriend?”
“Not girlfriend,” we say in unison.
“Even better,” Shannon says.
“I’m Izzy,” Izzy says, holding out her hand. “Congratulations!”
It seems this is the correct thing to say, because Shannon gives her a wide smile.
“Thanks so much! I’ve been so excited for today. I wanted to give it as much energy as my wedding day. Isn’t it amazing that they all took annual leave? We’re going for a long weekend in Madeira for my unhoneymoon.” She gestures towards the people in the living area. “You know what I did for my actual honeymoon? Hiked in the Alps. Did I like hiking? Did I like snow? Did I fuck! You know what I do like, though?”
She has the icing pen back in her hand and is pointing it at us.
“Sunshine and cocktails with people who have stood by me.”
“That is my sort of holiday,” Izzy says. “I love this. Can I have a hat?”
“Oh, hats are obligatory,” Shannon says, pointing to a stack of them on the kitchen counter.
Izzy looks at me. “Perfect! Lucas loves novelty headgear.”
“I’ve brought the ring,” I say to Shannon. Someone needs to get this conversation on track. Though I can’t help thinking that we aren’t as likely to get a ?15,000 reward for a ring representing a marriage that’s ended. “We will need some way to confirm that it’s yours—that is, if you still want it.”
“One step ahead of you,” says Shannon, still icing as she pulls her phone out with her other hand. “Here, my wedding photos.”
I glance from the screen to Shannon’s face.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “They don’t make me sad anymore. I’m where I want to be right now. It doesn’t matter how I got here.”
“God, that is such an amazing mentality,” Izzy says, mouth already full of a cupcake she’s picked up from somewhere.
With her Thank u, next hat on, Izzy looks like everyone else at the party—already quite at home. I was so surprised when she told me that she had been bullied at school. Everybody loves Izzy. But I can see it now—the way she just fits in. I suspect that is a skill she picked up because she needed it.