She warned me so that I could stay away.

But I didn’t.

When it came to it, I couldn’t.

I didn’t make a conscious decision to do what I did. It was as much of a shock to me as everyone else. But we were in town that morning anyway, and the abbey hall drew me like a magnet.

It was a beautiful day for a wedding. Even a wedding you weren’t invited to, that you most definitely wouldn’t be welcome at. Daisy came with me quite willingly, and the sun beat down on us as we skirted the car park and turned down the narrow path that led to the abbey hall.

We went up the steps to the double glass doors. The reception was already in full swing; I could hear the hum of conversation. I pushed on through and held the door open for Daisy. She didn’t hesitate. We went through the lobby, past the sign displaying the seating plan, and came to rest in the dim space under the arch that led to the long medieval hall, the only surviving building of the abbey that had once dominated the town.

It was beautiful. There were flowers all along the middles of the long narrow tables. White roses. The air smelled sweet and heady and the thick old glass in the ancient windows dimmed the light streaming in from outside and made everything watery, as if the hall was at the bottom of a lake.

A spoon chimed against a champagne flute and the room fell silent.

Silent for him. There he was, at the head table, standing to give his speech.

Twelve years since I’d last seen him, ten since our divorce. He was older, yes – greyer, a bit more tired-looking, and he’d put glasses on to read the notes on the cue cards he was holding. But in spite of everything he looked fit and well.

He was handsome still. Dignified. Tailor-made to wear black tie. His wife was next to him, looking up at him adoringly, oblivious to us.

I didn’t care any more what he had suffered. I took Daisy by the hand and stepped forward out of the shadows.

He saw us. He opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. The champagne glass fell from his hand and smashed. But nobody looked at the shattered crystal. They were all staring at us.

He pressed his hand to his heart as if he’d been poisoned, then to his head. He sagged forward; his hands scrabbled for purchase among the shards of glass. He made a strange and terrible sound, the scream of someone who can’t breathe.

We all looked on in horror as he crashed down onto the ancient wooden floor, and it occurred to me that I might just have killed him.

One

Ellie

After everything she’d been though with Dad, Mum was in no mood to get involved with anybody. What she said was, ‘Men are terrible to live with – always leaving toenail clippings in the bath.’ I knew that when she said this she was thinking of Dad, and that the toenail clippings were a stand-in for other failings that were worse and made her reluctant to let him into our flat at all.