I feel the sense of unease again that started to gather this morning while I tried to catch Jesse’s eye numerous times and failed. Every time I looked at him, he was resolutely staring away as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. The one time I thought he was looking and I smiled, he turned away from me, and I felt nausea grip my stomach.

I regretted the row as soon as it happened. I just got cross when he wouldn’t stop talking about going to Devon. Part of the anger was because I wanted to go more than anything. I wanted to apologise as soon as I saw his face fall at my rejection, but I couldn’t find a way to get back to us, so I stayed silent.

It’s given me a sour stomach but here was not the place for a serious discussion. I’ve therefore put on a good face for others all morning, but I’ve felt sick since we got here, and the only thing that’s got me through is the thought that I can apologise to him when the wedding is done.

The uneasy feeling grows into a steady pressure on my chest. “Patrick?” I say loudly and he jumps.

“I told him.”

“Told him what?” I can hear the panic in my voice and he smiles.

“Zeb, don’t worry. He can’t stand between us. I won’t allow it.”

“What did you tell him?” I say, enunciating each word slowly and clearly.

His smile widens. “I told him about the circumstances of you agreeing to be my best man.”

My stomach knots so badly that I feel like throwing up. “Oh fuck,” I groan, pacing away from him and staring unseeing over the balcony. “Why did you do that?”

“He had to know.”

I whirl. “No, he didn’t. He fucking didn’t need to know about the one moment in my life I am most ashamed of.”

“Why are you ashamed?”

I stare at him. “You just don’t get it, do you?” I say incredulously. “Jesus, Patrick, you have less morals than a fucking polecat.”

“What?” he says crossly. “It’s just us.”

“No, it isn’t. It hasn’t been just us for a very long time, and now there are two camps. There is you and Frances and there is me and Jesse and never the twain shall meet.”

“But they did meet,” he says smugly. “And fucked.”

“We fucked because you never told me you’d asked her to marry you,” I roar. “You gave me the impression you’d split up. You didn’t tell me until after.” I laugh incredulously. “And then asked me to be best man.”

“So why did you agree to it, Zebadiah?” he shouts.

“Because I felt sorry for you,” I say quietly, the soft words falling like rocks into a still pond.

“What?”