When I get to the gate of my family home, I push it open. I remind myself to make sure that the gate is fully open when I walk through it in my dress next week. I don’t want the beautiful lace getting nicked off that rusty handle.

Dad opens the door as I walk up the pathway. His tall, straight, athletic body has buckled slightly over the years. He’s grown a beard over the past few months but he promised to shave it off before the wedding. It’s not that I don’t like it – I hate it.

Dad smiles as I approach him and a rush of happiness flushes over my body. I’m going to be walking down this pathway next week holding a bouquet of flowers with my father by my side.

‘Hi Dad,’ I say.

‘Hi, Pet.’ Dad walks down the hallway in front of me and into the kitchen.

‘Have you been winning any chess games lately?’

‘No, I haven’t played much at all this year.’ He pushes a box out of my way when I enter the room. ‘I’m trying to clear things out to make room for next week,’ he says, moving over to lift some envelopes off the table which he hands to me.

‘These came in the post. I hope they’re full of money,’ he chuckles.

‘Lovely. Thanks.’ I take the cards and put them in my bag. I’ll open them later with Lucas. Or in the morning. I doubt Lucas will be in any state to open wedding presents tonight.

‘Did you get measured for your suit?’ I ask.

‘Yes, I did, we’ll all look great.’ He opens the fridge door and hands me a block of cheese that he says he picked up in Aldi. He must think we don’t eat. He’s always buying me food. It was the same when I lived at Huntley Lodge. Food would arrive out of nowhere. We regularly came home to fresh bread, cheeses, meats, biscuits, veg, tins of soup or boxes of cereal. There was never any question who had left it there because my dad was the only other person with a key. He didn’t use the words very often but I know it was his way of saying, you’re still my baby, I love you and will always take care of you. And now he won’t be able to do that. My heart sinks when I think of how much he will miss me. How will he take care of me from the other side of the world? When he sees something in the shop he thinks I might like, what will he do? Will he pick it up before he realises I’m not here anymore, then put it back on the shelf? I’m gutted with sadness when I think how lonely he will be.