She was seventeen, serious like her father, broad like her mother, and though her features didn’t add up to any remarkable beauty, taken separately there was nothing to fault: large brown eyes, soft pink cheeks, tawny hair that fell long down her back when it wasn’t plaited and pinned up. It was glimpsing her hair one day (through a door left ajar in the hallway, her back to him, hair loose and wavy and cascading all the way to her waist), which had thrilled Gabriel Tait the first time. He hadn’t been long at the paper, had come to deliver something to the boss. Soon they went to dinner every Thursday and soon after that they went riding together on Saturdays.

Matters progressed (though her hair remained pinned) until Evie asked Tait to propose to her. He’d frowned, surprised, and then she’d laughed; but Evie meant it, and eventually Tait did as she wished, though the moments leading to his asking and those that came after were a blur to him now. He’d done it, and Tait supposed he was happy about it, but wasn’t exactly sure why. He could hardly tell people it was because of her hair. And then (due to Evie’s tenacity) there’d been the announcement and it didn’t really matter anymore.

His mother and father were very happy. His sister hated Evangeline Langridge.

‘Everybody’s waiting,’ Evie said to her fiancé.

Tait took off his coat, heavy with the smell of tobacco and beer, hung it on the rack by the door. He was suddenly oppressed by the thought of the Langridges’ dining room, just down the hall and to the right. The dark wood and crystal light and fine bone china, the expensive candles that made it smell like a church. Mr and Mrs there, and the old aunt from Hobart, and whichever guests to fill out the enormous table and agree with Mr Langridge’s unimpeachable opinions on infinite subjects. And Evie, always answering for Tait, as though nervous he might say something wrong and embarrass everyone.

‘Who’s here?’ Tait said, following Evie down the hall.

She didn’t say, but hurried along to the dining room door, opened it, smiled broadly and said, ‘Finally!’ as she walked in, as though she’d had to go out and physically look for her fiancé in the streets.

‘Gabriel, where have you been?’ Mrs Langridge said.

‘Working, Mother, where else?’ Evie said. ‘Working hard.’

‘My apologies, Mrs Langridge,’ Tait said and sat down. He looked around the table. The beer was in his heartbeat and he could taste nicotine on his lips and the room stretched out into his peripheral vision and for sure it had been a folly to come. Now endure.

Mr Langridge nodded silently at him.

‘You remember Mr and Mrs Ainsley, Gabriel,’ Evie said.

‘Yes, of course.’