Nan shuffled up to take Amanda Louise’s seat, bringing with her the remains of a chocolate eclair. ‘That’s Rob’s friend, that Swedish boy, Nico, isn’t it?’ She licked cream from her fingers and nodded in Nico’s direction. He glanced up and smiled, apparently hearing Nan when he hadn’t acknowledged Amanda Louise’s clarion accents.

‘That’s right.’ Hannah gave him a wave.

Nico cast a glance at the playing children then got up and approached their table.

‘Remember me, young man?’ Nan demanded, her wrinkles refolding into a smile.

Nico’s eyes warmed. ‘Of course, Nan Heather. Rob brought me to your house and you gave us Battenberg cake. Hi, Hannah.’

Nan beamed at being remembered and was soon interrogating Nico about what he’d been doing since age eighteen and which of ‘these lovely children’ were his. Hannah tensed but Nico simply pointed his charges out. ‘Josie’s mine and Maria’s staying with us.’

After a while, Hannah excused herself to visit the ladies’, leaving Nico to listen to Nan talk about the children she fostered.

Hannah was still barefoot. She was waylaid several times on the way to the women’s room and though it was exciting and fun to see so many relatives and people she knew, she was fairly bursting by the time she finally made it into the ladies’ room – all flowered wallpaper and black basins – and shot into a cubicle. It wasn’t until she tugged down the zip at her back that she realised two things. One: the zip had snagged at the level of her bra strap. Two: she was quite alone.

How could that be, with a hundred women at the wedding?

She stretched over her shoulder with one hand and up her back with the other, trying in vain to tug free. Swearing, she exited the cubicle and waited by the basins for a minute, sure that a helpful female would come in soon, then gave up and opened the door to the foyer.

Just as Nico Pettersson strolled by, heading towards the nearby men’s room. ‘Nan Heather’s kindly watching the kids for a minute,’ he called.

Hannah was so uncomfortable by now that she was nearly dancing on the spot. ‘My zip’s stuck,’ she hissed. ‘These bloody silly jumpsuits!’

Laughter jumped into his eyes. ‘Turn around and I’ll fix it.’

Hannah, face on fire, complied. It took him a tug or two, a touch of warm fingertips on her skin, then he shifted the zip a couple of inches down, murmuring, ‘There you go.’

‘Thank you.’ Telling herself that the heat she felt was embarrassment, Hannah motored off into the loo.