Just before he left, Ted turned back. ‘Do you think things would have been different, Neen? If we’d dated first? I often wonder, if I hadn’t gone on my gap year, might it have set us on course, for us to end up together?’

So many scenes played out in Nina’s mind: meeting Ted for the first time at le Bal; him at her little terraced house in Mile End; him and Alice and a tangle of sheets. Sacré Coeur, Montmartre, the night before the wedding. They began to blend and meld in her head, a jumble of fleeting looks and moments but all of them grounded in one thing: pain. They were all edged with sadness and worry, anxiety and despair.

‘No,’ she said simply. ‘I just don’t think we were ever right for one another.’

*

Hi Alice

It feels weird to even write that. We’ve not emailed each other in about ten years, have we? But I’ve got too much to say for WhatsApp and it felt even stranger, too formal, to write a letter. But I’ve got something to tell you and I think it’s best I lay it out here and you don’t have to see me – ever again if you don’t want to, although I really hope you do – while you think about things. Because what I’ve got to say is going to come as quite a shock.

There’s no easy way to say this, Alice. The night before your wedding, I slept with Ted. It’s the biggest regret of my life, by a mile. The truth is, I thought we were meant to be together. Obviously that seems ridiculous now – and it was ridiculous then – but I was young and stupid and as you know, back then, quite reckless. It’s why I’m not so reckless now. It’s why I finally got my act together: started therapy, did my course, opened the patisserie. I had betrayed you and I couldn’t live with myself like that. I had to change.

I didn’t see Ted for a long time after the wedding. I made sure I only saw you when I knew he wouldn’t be there. The next time I did was at Charlotte’s christening, but we didn’t speak that day and we didn’t speak for a long time after, probably not until Jules’ wedding, and we barely spoke then. I don’t want you to think there were looks or glances behind your back; there weren’t.

By the time you suggested us working together, it felt like we’d all moved on. I knew – I thought at least – you two were happy together. In a strange way I had convinced myself that it was in the past and it didn’t matter any more but as I write this now I realise how foolish – and selfish – that was. I had moved on but I’d not given you the same opportunity.

I’d decided to tell you after that last weekend in Paris. I had to leave early, I had an emergency. (Why did you never check I was okay, Alice?)