But I can’t relax. My only qualification for being a bridesmaid is my shared genes. Give me a grand mal seizure and I’m happy, but I am clueless about reception etiquette.

‘Does she need her hair redoing? It’s gone a bit frizzy.’

Naomi has it sussed. ‘This is her post-ceremony relaxed beach-wave style, as detailed in the manual, page seven.’ It’s not a joke. Marilyn had a whole ‘look book’ printed up and distributed to key personnel. It’s not entirely about vanity. She wants to use it as a springboard to doing bridal makeovers, because weddings are the best fun ever.

There isn’t a single cell of my body that could regard this as fun. Tim feels the same, but he’s got the perfect excuse, with a day’s shadowing at the community hospital in Worthing. He pretended it was accidental, but I saw his forms. He volunteered.

‘Kerry?’

I feel like I’ve seen a ghost.

Joel is wearing an old-school bartender’s outfit – white shirt, waistcoat, black tie – and it makes me wish we’d both been born in the 1920s. He looks as though he’s just strolled out of an underground jazz bar. It’s only seeing him now that I realize how his brush with death temporarily dulled his beauty.

Now he’s back to how he was before.

My pulse is racing, but it’s anger I am feeling, not attraction.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I . . .’ He gestures at the uniform. ‘Working. Ant’s in charge of the bar and he asked me. He never mentioned it was Marilyn’s wedding. If I’d known, I’d never have come.’

‘Why the fuck would Ant do that?’

Joel shrugs. ‘He doesn’t know about what we were. I guess he didn’t think it was relevant. When I realized, I was gonna leave but then I saw you and . . .’ He exhales. ‘Look. Do you want me to head off? Ant will hate me for leaving him in the lurch, but I don’t want to spoil your day.’

I glower at him. ‘How thoughtful of you.’

‘Kerry—’

‘Stay, go, whatever you want. It’s nothing to do with me. Stay, probably, I can’t be responsible for people going thirsty at my sister’s wedding.’

‘Are you sure?’

I try to stare him out, shame him into looking away. But he doesn’t. I need to say something to end this moment because the longer it goes on the harder it is to dam this flood of memories.

‘Whatever, Joel. Stay. It’d be a shame to waste your costume.’

He pulls a face. ‘Embarrassing, right? Your sister was extremely specific about how we should look. She made a better choice with your dress.’

Self-consciousness makes me prickle with sweat. ‘The other bridesmaid picked the style because she’s a leggy waif. Unlike me.’