She wanted. Plain and simple. She wanted more. From her life, from Henry … The image of him staring at her in the car, the way that he’d searched her features, making sure that she was OK. It had felt … painful. Because she did want that, did want him. She wanted him to be her person. The person that put her first. The first person she could turn to and who would turn to her. She didn’t for a minute begrudge her friend’s happiness, but in reality – real, real hard reality – although they would always be there for each other, they each now had their person. And that was only right.

It couldn’t help but make Lily feel lonely. Because she wanted Henry in a way that was beyond attraction. Because having someone to help her with the wedding, to talk questions over with, to get reassurances from … she’d missed that in her life. And suddenly she could name it. Name her loneliness. Realize that she’d been lonely for a very long time, and that she’d just managed to fool everyone including herself, that she was fine. When in reality, she’d just been treading water, going nowhere.

She pulled the handle on the shower and reached for a towel, wrapping herself up tight as if holding herself together when really she felt as if she might come completely undone.

Stepping through to the bedroom of the suite she saw the sweatpants, T-shirt and jumper that Henry had left out for her. An image of him wearing them flashed into her mind and feeling like a fool, she couldn’t help but reach for the jumper, the fine texture of the wool so soft. It was probably cashmere or some other material Victoria would know the name of. As if stroking the material released the scent of Henry, she drew it to her face and rubbed the soft smoothness against her skin, relishing in the faint traces of Henry’s aftershave that still clung to the knit.

The rain, the storm, it was like a flood letting, a dam bursting and she was suddenly feeling everything at once. She pulled on the clothes, fastening the jogging bottoms at her waist with the string and having to roll up the ankles so she didn’t trip. The T-shirt hung low and wide at the neck as if he’d pulled at it over the years. She thrust her arms through the jumper and pulled it down over her head.

Checking in the mirror, her eyes looked huge, but at least they weren’t red from the tears she had cried in the shower. She towel-dried her hair roughly and, although part of her just wanted to collapse on to the bed, bundle herself into the thick inviting duvet, she couldn’t put off seeing Henry any longer.