By the time I’ve helped Marilyn’s maid of honour, Naomi, to report the theft of her purse stuffed with shiny new euros, everyone else is steaming drunk at a beachside bar. I lean over to kiss Mum, and squeeze in alongside her on the white leather sofa. ‘Started without me?’

She grabs a waiter. ‘Let me help you catch up.’

The mojito royale goes down very easily, the bubbles sending the alcohol to my brain at warp speed. I decide to get drunk enough that Marilyn’s hens will have to fend for themselves.

I wish I was here with Tim instead. It’s been a dreamy summer, though he’s turned a bit tetchy now he’s started doing more placements.

‘. . . It’s mainly birthdays and special occasions now. Oh, and when the Dolphins win. But when we put our minds to it, we can still be imaginative,’ my mum is saying. Please don’t let her be talking about sex.

One glimpse at Marilyn’s face confirms my fears. My parents have always been more touchy-feely than most and part of me is proud that they still love each other that deeply. But I don’t want to know the details.

‘Mum, do you have to?’

‘Oh, Kerry. You’re turning into such a prude.’

Am I? ‘You wouldn’t think that if you’d heard the calls I take about people’s genitals, or how they claim they’ve lost items up certain orifices.’

Everyone demands I share the stories then, involving people ‘falling’ onto brooms and bottles and toilet brushes. ‘What’s even more amazing is that sometimes they fall on these objects after they’ve accidentally popped a condom on the end of them. Still doesn’t make it safe sex!’

The excitement of my job might have worn off for me, but it can’t be beaten for hen-night entertainment.

Inevitably, the more we drink, the lewder people get. Naomi had what she’s called a ‘starter marriage’ followed by a ‘quickie divorce’. ‘But now I’m single, I see more action than I did when I was married. It’s how it goes. Even you two will do it less once you’ve got a ring on your finger, Marilyn.’

‘Never! Neil is like the Duracell bunny.’ My sister’s fiancé is a plumber, rugged and handsome, but quiet, so she can take centre stage.

‘You and Tim will be next, will you?’ Naomi says to me.

‘We’re not even engaged!’

Although I can imagine us married. We already act that way, referring to each other as Mr and Mrs, doing the gardening and chores in an ironic way, teasing each other as though we’re in an episode of The Good Life, and having non-ironic sex afterwards.