‘Promise me, sis. Don’t. Marry. Tedious Tim!’ Marilyn says, her face stern. When I told her Tim might not be able to make the wedding because he’s starting placements, she began plotting which single men to seat at my table.

She’s always been pretty enough to get what – or who – she wants without too much effort, and that now includes her husband-to-be. She’d never believe me if I told her it’s not like that for everyone. Though I feel a little more glamorous here, now I’ve caught the sun. A couple of guys have even tried to chat me up. Or maybe they just wanted to snatch my bag while I was distracted.

Naomi shakes her head. ‘Isn’t there some cute ambulance man who’d sweep you off your feet and put the adventure in your life?’

‘I had a cute ambulance man. They’re overrated, as is adventure.’

‘Everyone wants adventure!’

I shrug. ‘I’ve done a bungee jump. That was exciting.’ Surprisingly exciting: as I plunged, I felt like the old me, for a few milliseconds. ‘I’ve booked a charity sky-dive next month, too.’

Marilyn laughs. ‘If I lived with Tim, I’d ask them not to give me a parachute.’

‘Kerry is a very different person to you,’ my mum says, putting a protective arm around me and breathing biscuity cava fumes into my face. ‘Chalk and cheese. Tim is a lovely lad, and personality is the most important thing. If Kerry doesn’t want the fireworks, that’s up to her!’

I want to tell her that there are fireworks with Tim, but not the out-of-control, exam-ruining kind. That he’s a surprising lover: sweeter than Andy the paramedic, more patient than Joel ever was.

Joel. He almost ruined my life, so why does my body still jolt at the thought of him?

Nostalgia for my first love, that’s all it is. The future is so much better. My whole life is ahead of me, with Tim at my side. Isn’t that the most reassuring feeling of all? Us against the world!

Mum is nudging me, pointing at her watch. ‘Drink up, Kerry. We don’t want to be late for Topless Tapas! Apparently, the men are hot stuff.’

My sister’s wedding day comes three weeks after the hen weekend, in the middle of a heatwave: perfect for her sleeveless dress, but shitty for me and Naomi, sweltering in our floor-length aqua silk sheaths. I look like the Little Mermaid who forgot to apply her antiperspirant.

Everything else is beautiful: Marilyn, the church, the flowers, my parents’ outfits, and the photos under the bandstand, with the faded West Pier in the background, still glamorous despite the decay. And now I’m hiding in the sunlit front parlour of the regency-era house she’s hired for the reception, all chandeliers and gilded coving.