"Jay is in Birmingham," I protested. "You did say Birmingham, right? I'm in London. Not exactly the same place."

"They're both in England," countered Grandma placidly. "How far away can it be?"

"I'm not going to Birmingham," I said flatly.

"Eloise," Grandma said reprovingly. "You have to learn how to be flexible in a relationship."

"And we're not having a relationship! I haven't even met him."

"That's because you won't go to Birmingham."

"Grandma, people don't go to Birmingham; they go away from Birmingham. It's like New Jersey."

The man in front of me let out an indignant "Oi!" but whether it was addressed to my rising volume level or the slur to the northern metropolis was unclear.

"I just want to see you married before I die."

"We'll just have to keep you around for a good long while then, won't we?" I said brightly.

Grandma changed tactics. "I met your grandfather when I was sixteen, you know."

I knew. Oh, how I knew.

"Not everyone is as special as you, Grandma," I said politely. "Oh, look, it's my stop. I have to go."

"Jay will call you!" trilled Grandma.

"I've heard that one before," I muttered, but Grandma had already rung off. Undoubtedly to phone Mitten, or Muffin, or whatever her name was, and break out the celebratory champagne.

Grandma had been trying to marry me off, by one means or another, since I'd hit puberty. I kept hoping that, eventually, she would give up on me and switch her attention to my little sister, who, at the age of nineteen, was dangerously close to spinster-hood by Grandma's standards. So far, though, Grandma stubbornly refused to be rerouted, much to Jillian's relief. I would have admired her tenacity if it hadn't been directed at me.

I hadn't been entirely lying about it being my stop; the bus, imitating the tortoise in the old fable, was slowly inching its way past Euston station, which meant that I would be the next stop up, across the street from one of the plethora of Pizza Expresses that dotted the London landscape like glass-fronted mushrooms.