‘You look…’ I can’t quite find the words.

‘I know.’ She beams, twisting to look at each angle of her reflection. She’s holding her arms out, fiddling with her fingers, unsure quite what do to with them. Eventually, she rests her hands on her hips, and her body visibly relaxes into the dress. She softens, and her head lifts tall and proud. ‘I can’t believe I’m getting married,’ she whispers.

‘I know…’

She sniffs. I sip at my water. We giggle.

The assistant checks how the dress is fitting. Deftly nipping, tucking and shortening as Lou obediently complies with her instructions. ‘If you just turn slightly this way, we’ll pin this a little more so we can make the final alterations. Nearly done.’

Lou sneaks a cheeky grin at me. ‘You’re next,’ she says, clapping her hands together.

‘This is all a long way off for me,’ I cough. ‘Jesus.’ I ignore the tiny pang I feel at the thought.

‘No, I don’t mean this,’ she motions to the dress with a look that says highly unlikely on her face. I try not to take it personally. ‘I mean your bridesmaid dress.’

‘Ah… yes.’ The sight of hers had briefly eliminated the fear about mine. A knot of terror returns, tighter than before. Peach taffeta has been mentioned. I found a photo of such an eighties crime on Pinterest, adding it to her mood board as a joke. She didn’t take it off. I could literally be wearing anything.

I check my watch again.

‘You have plenty of time. It’s ready, isn’t it, Jenny?’

Jenny, the assistant, nods, then shouts to her colleague. ‘Can you get the bridesmaid dress out for Miss Davies, please, Fiona?’

‘I have to get going by twelve o’clock at the latest, okay, Lou? My shift starts at one and I’ve got a few bits to sort out beforehand. There’s a lot on at the moment.’

‘I know, I know. It’ll be fine. What could be more important than a dress fitting, anyway?’

I don’t think I can bring myself to try and explain exactly what is so important. My bag, with Susan’s book inside it, taunts me like a big ugly bag of inappropriateness. I need to give it to Susan. Then I need to decide whether to talk to Susan about her house, and about the cutting, or my boss, Gail, first. Or maybe I could talk with Mark first. He’s her consultant. He might have an idea about how to manage the situation. Though maybe I should give Susan time to think about the cutting, to respond. I could offer to help her find the baby… if it even is hers. Though, after Rhys’ reaction this morning, I’m not sure families are my thing. I could put her in touch with someone though. Help from a distance. Which would have been the case had Rhys not been so hell bent on going to Susan’s house for this book. I pull the bag tightly into me.