The door bursts open and Tasha (having twins) enters. Me and my mum both sing, ‘Hiya,’ and Tasha smiles – with her mouth, not her eyes – and waddles into a cubicle. A fed-up sigh is audible from behind the door. I bet it’s a drag being pregnant at a wedding.

‘It’s great to see Beth still so loved-up with Fergus after all these years, isn’t it?’ my mum says, keeping me from running off. ‘She got lucky with him, didn’t she, love?’

I nod, but my mum looks at me through the mirrors and mouths something at me. I have no idea what she’s saying until she starts to move her hand like a puppet and I realise she wants me to talk. Keeping up appearances, as ever.

‘Yeah, Beth’s one lucky gal,’ I say, to humour her.

Tasha emerges, says something about the more people drink, the more hands touch her bump, although I get the feeling she’s talking to herself in the mirror, not wanting to open up a conversation. My mum tells her she looks stunning and Tasha leaves with a slightly better smile than the one she came in with. I’m on the spot once again.

‘What’s the honest reason?’ my mum asks. ‘Why you brought Si?’ She whispers his name, as if he – or God forbid, somebody else, via the Grade-II-listed wall – might hear us.

‘I didn’t wanna get drunk and shag a random,’ I tell her, giving a shrug.

The noise that escapes my mum resembles a strangled parrot.

‘Chloe, you’re disgusting.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m grieving. And trying to stop meself from doing ridiculous things to numb the pain,’ I say, quite matter-of-factly. I refuse to get upset today. I’ve paced myself with the booze and done bloody well (so far) to avoid heart-to-hearts with certain acquaintances. All that’s left for the night ahead is a boogie and a few mini burgers.

My mum straightens her bolero and smooths down her already smooth, shimmery dress.

‘Having sex,’ she whispers the word, ‘is not ridiculous. Not at your age.’

‘Oh, so you’d rather I was fucking around with randoms?’

‘Making love, Chloe. It’s making love. Don’t say the F word.’

‘You can’t make love to a stranger. And anyway, I’d need to get wasted.’

‘Keep your voice down.’

‘No. You brought up this insane conversation – it’s your fault if anybody hears it.’

‘Don’t speak to me like that.’

‘Well, it works both ways, Mum. Don’t tell me to sleep with fellas just to prove that your daughter’s not on the shelf. You only want me to have sex on the off chance I might get pregnant by accident, give you a bloody grandchild. Never mind who the father is—’

‘How dare you—’

‘No, how dare you!’

‘You’ve put me in a horrible mood, Chloe. A horrible mood.’