My dad stands and holds out his hands. I accept and he pulls me up. He kisses the top of my head; hugs me tight.

‘He’d tell you you’re gorgeous, ’cause you are,’ he says. I want to crumble, to fall into a million delicate pieces, like confetti. ‘The first dance is about to start in a sec.’

‘Okay.’

I lean my head into my dad’s chest and we sway, side to side, slowly.

‘Dad? Why’s me mum so disappointed in me?’

‘Oh, love. She’s not disappointed in you. She’s disappointed for you.’

‘No, she’s sick of me. She’s—’

‘Ssh, ssh,’ my dad says, stroking my hair, still swaying. ‘She wants you to have all the things you wish for. Not ’cause she wants them for herself, but ’cause she knows you want them. And whenever you hurt, she hurts. Christ, girl. I hurt. But look. I handle me hurt one way, she handles it another. Just like you do.’

‘I’m so sorry for putting you both through all this, Dad. I don’t want youse to hurt for me. Surely this is my problem? Not yours or me mum’s.’

‘It’s very much our problem. It’s called being a parent. And it’s a lousy part of the job.’

I step away a little and look at him. If only my mum could be as kind; as honest.

‘We should go back in,’ I say. ‘Today’s about you and me mum, too.’

When we get back to the party, the photo booth is in full action. A queue is forming with lots of guests trying out different hats and accessories. My dad joins the line, rubbing his hands together. I still haven’t been able to exchange more than a few words with Beth. She’s still sitting at her table with Fergus and whatever they’re talking about looks pretty intimate.

I find Si wandering out of the gents’.

‘Sorry,’ I say to him. ‘I hope Malcolm wasn’t boring you too much?’

‘You serious? He’s a Sondheim fan. Saw the original Into the Woods. On Broadway!’

‘I still feel like I’ve abandoned you.’

He waves his hands around.

‘Not. At. All,’ he says. ‘I’m having a blast, Chloe. Best. Wedding. Ever. Like, how much love is there in one room? Really? How much? It’s simply marvellous.’

He’s fitted right in. I’m delighted.

‘Now, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, Chloe – but your mum, she’s full of shit, right?’

Now that does make me laugh.

‘What’s she said now?’ I ask.

‘Told me you’re quitting teaching. And I was like, hardly, Miss Roscoe’s directing the school musical. Oh, you should’ve seen her face. Proud as punch, she was. Why would she say you were quitting?’