‘I’d say sorry, but I’m only telling the truth.’

‘Even on our Kit’s wedding day, you just couldn’t stop yourself, could you?’

I blink, confused.

‘Nothing’s ever serious with you, Chloe. Ever. Whether it was your schoolwork, that degree you did, your endless stupid jobs, you never take anything seriously. Never. And now you might give up teaching? That’s the last thing you said, wasn’t it? You always piss all over your good fortune and act the goat—’

‘What do you mean? Where’s all this come from?’

‘I bet Jack wasn’t even that serious and you’re just being a bloody drama queen.’

Thank fuck Gareth’s sister shuffles in with her two little girls, one holding each of her hands. I was making confetti cones with these kids yesterday and they light up when they see me. It makes my tummy flip.

‘Oh, don’t you two look beautiful!’ my mum cries out and touches each little girl on the chin. They smile at her, coyly. Gareth’s sister tells them to say, ‘Excuse me’, and awkwardly pushes the older one into a cubicle. She squeezes inside the other with the little one. She gives my mum that look that says, ‘Kids, who’d have ’em?’

‘See you ladies on the dance floor,’ I say, and make a swift exit.

I’ve nothing more to say to my mum and I’m sure she’s as relieved as I am about that.

27

It’s about seven o’clock when I finally get a minute – the lull between the speeches and the dancing. Many people are outside, enjoying the late August warmth. Some are drinking coffee. Most are back on the ale, gearing up to get drunk for the second time around after sobering up during the meal. The chocolate mousse has put a couple of guests to sleep on various Victorian sofas. My nan’s gone home. ‘I’ve had a marvellous time, but I’ve had enough,’ she’d said.

I’m outside in a small bandstand. It’s off the beaten track, at the bottom of another manicured lawn. The only reason I know this hideout exists is because yesterday, during the decorating, Gareth’s little nieces brought me here to show me what they called the fairy house.

I should be thinking about the speeches. Remembering the hilarious words from Gareth’s best mate; the incredibly moving ones from my brother and his new husband. My dad nailed his jokes, surprisingly. My mum sat with her best smile fixed like the Joker, ready for a photo opportunity. When I was applauded for being Kit’s sister, with the odd wolf whistle, she didn’t look at me. She just kept on smiling, clapping, playing along. What she really thought of me was hidden from view, brushed beneath the top table. And it’s her words that linger, that stick. They bug me on repeat.