She passes me the reading and I glance at it. It doesn’t look particularly long, but I’m too panicked to see any actual words, only a puzzle of letters. I’m only OK to speak in public when I’ve had a lot of time to practise. The ceremony is in just under two hours. This does not give me enough time.

‘But I hate my outfit.’ I gesture at myself. ‘I’m wearing a really ugly sack that looks weird at the crotch.’

She looks at me. Her eyes definitely linger at the crotch.

‘I have an idea.’

Half an hour later, I’ve successfully squeezed into one of Tilly’s dresses and the make-up artist has made my face look like it’s glowing in a good, non-sweaty way.

‘Bea, that dress looks fabulous on you.’

I look in the mirror and I have to admit, I love the dress. It’s exactly the kind of dress I would choose to wear, and it makes me feel both comfortable and confident at the same time. Looking at myself in the mirror, and feeling how I currently feel, it’s undeniable that an outfit can give you extra power, kind of like armour.

‘Thank you so much for letting me borrow it. I promise to at least try not to spill anything on it.’ It’s quite a light colour – spilling would be bad.

‘Bea, it’s yours. Keep the dress. Spill on it as much as you like. I’ve had it for years and never worn it because it doesn’t suit me, I kept it because I always wanted it to. But it turns out it was made for you. Take it as a thank-you for today – not the full thank-you, but a mini one.’

Refusing her feels like the natural thing to do. But then I wonder about how I would feel if our roles were reversed. I would want Tilly to take the dress. I would be happy that she loved it.

‘Thank you, Tills.’

For once in my life I might be appropriately dressed for the occasion.

The formal part of the ceremony doesn’t take very long, and I’m distracted throughout. I want it to go more quickly – so I can get my reading over and done with – but I also want it to go more slowly, so I can have more time to practise.

When it’s my turn, I get up and stand at the front where all the other speakers have been standing. I assume this is the right spot. When I finally look up, I lock eyes with Tilly and there’s a brief moment where I think I might cry before I’ve even started.

Then I remember I am wearing The Dress. My collarbones have been dusted with shimmer powder, and I know I can do this.

Regardless, my eyes start to water as I read.

‘“Love”, by Roy Croft.’

I swallow and try to slow down my words.

‘I love you,

Not only for who you are,

But for what I am

When I am with you.’