From inside my collar, I took a stealthy look, wondering how the boys had fared in the last six years. Once upon a time, they had been my friends; when I’d lost Luke, I’d lost them too.

There was Narky Joey, the breakout star. (Back in the day, Brigit and I initially agreed that if you had to sleep with one of the Real Men—say, in a last-man-on-earth-style situation—the obvious one would have been Joey, who was sexy in an angular, sneery way. As it turned out, Brigit did sleep with him.)

These days Joey was looking moneyed and hot, in a beautifully cut elegant suit beneath a beautifully cut elegant head of hair. Not so Gaz, who was still rocking alarmingly tight black jeans, a black leather jacket and what looked like half a can of hairspray holding the back-combed knots in his straggly ’do. Fair play to him. Stayed true to his principles. Johnno, barely recognizable, had gone the full, baldy, someone’s-dad decline. And there was Shake, looking good, still sporting the excellent head of hair which had given him his nickname.

The strains of the organ started and a shoal of Costellos shot up the aisle to their seats at the front. I tried to get a better look at the woman who’d been holding Luke’s hand, but her head was bowed, so there was just an impression of shoulder-length blonde hair and a delicately boned face.

Here came Mr Costello, his wheelchair being pushed by Luke’s sister, Vanessa. As he came level with our pew, our gaze met. His dark, button eyes flared with surprise and—maybe?—warmth.

Now came the coffin. Luke was on ‘my’ side and as he passed by, his face rigid, my heart pounded so loudly that I thought he’d hear. He delivered the coffin to the stand near the altar then stepped into a pew near the front, ‘excuse-me’-ing his way along, till he was next to his girl. From behind, I watched as she took his hand in hers and they sat down together, their bodies close.

With throat-clearing and shuffling, the mass began and reality began to settle. Luke was over there, on the other side of the aisle. With another woman.

In the months, even years, before today, I’d been fine. The way we’d ended would probably always hurt, but I’d been okay about it. At peace, really.

But now, in this church, the time-jump was making me light-headed—one minute Luke and I were each other’s most important person in the world, the next it was more than half a decade later and we’d been long since consigned to each other’s pasts. It was insane.