I can’t face going back to the wedding, and instead head for home, even though I know it will lead to my family being even nicer to me.

CHAPTER 45

Midnight comes as I pull into home. It feels fitting to bring in the new year alone and not quite at my destination.

Fireworks start going off in the distance when I open the front door. Hugo greets me, as if he’s been waiting for me to return ever since I left.

I hear voices in the kitchen, so I yell through, ‘Hey, guys. I’m sorry, I’m back. I left the wedding early to go on a stupid errand and decided to come home instead. I hope that’s OK.’ I walk towards the kitchen.

I can tell that they’ve had a nice evening. The dishes aren’t yet in the dishwasher, they’re part-way through a jigsaw puzzle, and Mum has had at least two glasses of wine. She’s going to start giggling soon.

‘Hi, honey.’ Mum smiles at me. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, but I would like a glass of wine.’ And to drown my sorrows and forget I ever got my hopes up.

‘Was the wedding nice?’

‘Yes, it was beautiful.’ It really was.

‘Is that a new dress? I thought you left wearing a different outfit.’

I look down and almost start to cry. I’ve forgotten about the dress. The perfect dress will now for ever be the dress of broken dreams. I need to take it off. I feel so stupid for letting a poem get to me so much.

‘Tilly let me borrow it.’ I will definitely be giving it back to her. I don’t want to see it again, let alone own it. I put my hands on my hips to emphasize how it’s slightly on the small side. ‘It’s quite constricting actually, I’m going to run upstairs and change.’ I head out of the room before they can argue. Not that they would. From the look of things they also feel the need to be comfortable. They’re all wearing trousers akin to, well, lounge pants.

Retreating upstairs feels nice. Away from all the eyes.

Once in the safety of my own room, I take the dress off and reach for my favourite set of pyjamas, and, in a moment of peak wallowing, I also decide to put on the jumper I purloined from Peter. It’s become something of a security blanket.

As I’m pulling it over my head, Hugo barks downstairs. He never barks, so I hurry up to make sure everyone is OK and stumble on the last step as I take in the scene.

Peter is talking to my mum in the entryway, whilst Hugo stares lovingly up at him.

I know how he feels.

‘Peter.’ I need to say more words, but I don’t know if I know any more words.

‘Bea.’ He smiles at me, but his smile fades quickly. Is he remembering our kiss? ‘How was the wedding?’

‘Huh?’ I still can’t seem to say anything more than vague sounds.