Alex presses a hard, fast kiss to my lips. ‘I’ll start looking at venues.’

A shiver goes down my spine. Is this really happening?

‘You’re pulling my leg,’ Bridget says when I call to tell her.

‘I’m not.’

‘You are. I don’t believe you.’

‘I’m not,’ I insist, laughing. ‘Will you come or what?’

‘To London for Christmas Eve? And then back to frigging Cornwall in time for Christmas with Charlie’s family? Do you know what the traffic will be like?’

My heart sinks. I guess I wasn’t really thinking when we decided on that date.

Bridget carries on. ‘All to find out that this is some big joke and you’re not getting married after all?’

‘I am getting married. I’m marrying Alex. I need a visa.’

She falls silent. ‘Are you serious?’ she asks after a moment.

‘Oh, now you believe me,’ I say with a grin.

‘Are you serious?’ she asks again. ‘You’re marrying him? For a visa?’

‘Sort of,’ I reply. ‘I mean, he wants to marry me. And I do want to be with him for the rest of my life. It makes sense.’

‘How dreamy,’ she says drily.

I laugh. ‘Sorry, but you know what I’m like! I’m not going to change overnight.’

‘You’re really getting married? On Christmas Eve?’

‘Yes, and I would love you to be my witness. My sort of matron of honour, even though you don’t have to buy a special dress or anything. But I understand if it’s too much of a hassle to drive from Cornwall.’

She screams.

Right. In. My. Ear.

‘HolyshitfuckinghellBronteyou’regettingmarried?!’

‘Yes.’

‘You love him. You really, really love him.’

‘We’ve been trying to make babies together.’

‘Holy fuck!’ she gasps. ‘This is real. This is happening.’

‘Yes!’ I’m laughing properly now. ‘Will you come?’

‘Yes, I’ll fucking come! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’

Alex and I both agree that we will not make a big deal out of this. But our friends and family seem to have other ideas. His mates – including Ed, whom I actually really, really like, which is just as well, because he’s always popping over for post-work drinks – drag him out for a meal the night before we tie the knot. My friends do the same for me, but, when we end up at the same tacky eighties club night where Alex and I met, I stamp my heels on the pavement.

‘No way. No frigging way. I am not having my hen night here.’

Polly looks affronted. ‘What’s wrong with this place?’

Whoops… I never did tell her I wasn’t a fan.

‘Just a couple of shots, I promise,’ Bridget says. ‘For old times’ sake. It’s where you met!’ she urges, shaking my upper arms.

I dither. ‘Okay, but just two shots,’ I agree.

‘And a bit of a boogie,’ Rachel chips in.

I narrow my eyes at her. ‘Okay, maybe one or two.’

Luckily I’m already tipsy after all of the Prosecco at dinner.