Gwen Reynolds was beautiful. Her dark hair was curled and pulled back, her clear skin shining and the gorgeous wedding gown we’d chosen together moved with her as she walked, floating lightly behind her. I felt myself tearing up as she came closer, trying to recall if I’d ever seen either of my parents look like this before. It was wonderful, I realized, that they could make each other this happy. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have someone like that in your life, someone who actually wanted to be there, who could make you smile the way my parents were smiling at each other in that moment, even after forty years. And at the back of the room, standing off to the side, out of the way, I saw John, watching me watch my mum.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today.’

Dad’s best friend, Peter Mapplethorpe, stood in front of my parents, a solemn look on his face and a well-worn paperback open in his hands.

‘He does know this is just a vow renewal, doesn’t he?’ I asked, trying to get a better look. ‘Why has he got a bible?’

‘It’s The Da Vinci Code,’ Jo replied, twisting her head to one side. ‘What a knob.’

‘We are gathered here today to celebrate the love between our friends, Gwen and Alan,’ Peter Mapplethorpe said, imbuing his speech with great reverence as he clutched the sacred words of Dan Brown. ‘But before I begin, if anyone here has any reason to object, speak now or forever hold your peace.’

An easy chuckle rippled through the crowd.

Then Nan stood up and everyone flinched.

‘I’ve got something to say,’ she announced. ‘This is utter nonsense and I can’t believe you’ve dragged me into this filthy city to witness it.’

I looked at Mum and Dad, panic in my heart, but they simply shrugged at each other and seemed to silently agree it could have been much worse.

‘That it?’ Jo asked, eyebrows drawn together, eternally unimpressed. ‘Anything else?’

‘I’ll not hear from you, you harlot,’ Nan sniffed. ‘In my day, you’d have been strung up for your behaviour.’

I looked down at the order of service in my lap and noticed a late addition that hadn’t been on Mum’s original design. It was a line from an Emily Dickinson poem, one she quoted so often, I knew it by heart and had once put in a love letter to Patrick.

Forever – is composed of Nows –

I gave an involuntary sniff, my eyes welling up for just a moment. He used to use that letter as a bookmark, I remembered quietly, my heart softening against my will. Whatever book he was reading, my note was always tucked away inside although I’d never known if it was because it meant something to him or it was just convenient.