That time I heard her, too.

Tell your mother not to worry. She just has to do the right thing for now.

And then it faded, leaving me comforted and unsettled at the same time.

Hearing things? My long-dead grandmother, speaking to me, right here in church on my sister’s wedding day?

I couldn’t tell anybody about this, especially not Mum. She’d think I was completely out of my mind.

When the ceremony was over I said goodbye to Dad and made my way with the other guests to the medieval hall where the reception was being held, and found my place next to Mark at the top table.

I would have rather sat next to Peter, to be honest; it would have helped me fend off the temptation to start drinking, and make sure I behaved myself. But this was how Ava had chosen to do things, and it was her big day.

There was no point remembering that I’d always been the one who was desperate to get married, while Ava had poured scorn on the idea. That was life, I had begun to realise: life was what happened in the space between what you wanted and what you got.

And then Mark stood up to give his speech and tapped the glass, and they appeared at the back of the hall.

I didn’t recognise them, but knew I ought to. There was a tired-looking woman in jeans with a teenage girl who was dressed head to toe in varying shades of pink. They were holding hands. The teenage girl looked as if she had absolutely no idea what she was doing there but was willing to go with the flow for now. And the woman was as cold and calm and unwavering as an assassin.

Mark looked as if he’d seen a ghost. A real ghost.

The glass he was holding slipped from his fingers and smashed. He pressed his hand to his heart, then to his head. And then he collapsed onto the floor like a puppet whose strings have just been dropped, and the whole hall went silent.

Twenty-Three

Ava

‘Dad!’

I’d never called him that before. And there he was, down on the ground at my wedding reception, groaning and clutching his head in agony.

Everyone and everything else faded into the background: the blue-tinged sunlight drifting through the big old windows, the scent of the roses, my white silk dress. The hum of conversation in the room gave way to a hush that was broken by urgent voices, but I didn’t hear what they were saying. I was down on my knees beside him, pleading.

He looked as if he was dying. As if here and now was the setting Fate had chosen for his time to be up, on the worn wooden floorboards where monks had walked long ago.

Mum was down beside him, supporting him, loosening his tie. I managed to say, ‘We need an ambulance.’

She said, ‘Toby’s calling for one. Mark… Can you hear me?’