My phone beeps in my bag and I’m tempted to ignore it, but it might be Dad or one of my colleagues, so I fish it out. It’s a text from Douglas asking if I’m OK. I send a photo back of my view and tell him that I’m just fine. I try not to dwell on the fact that if he’s texting then that must mean the wedding is over. I’m about to return my phone to my bag when I see a notification for an email I never thought I would see again. A Note to Future Self.

My heart beats that little bit faster. I don’t remember sending one after my mum died but maybe I had after all, as a way of trying to feel better in my grief-stricken state. But curiosity soon turns to confusion when I click on it and see that it was sent today at 11.03 a.m.

Dear Edie,

I’m writing you this email as we seem absolutely atrocious at actually telling each other how we really feel and I’m hoping that, this way, there’s nothing to stop me from telling you what’s going on in my head.

I didn’t marry Verity. We got to the registry office and I realised I couldn’t go through with it. It wasn’t fair on Verity and it wasn’t fair on me either. I can’t keep running away anymore.

Which is why I’m sending this to you now as I’m planning to give you the big scary speech (scary for me – I hope not you, fingers crossed) that has been a long time coming. Just be kind to me, this is not natural for me to say these kinds of things out loud. But we all know what a mess I made of it the last time I wrote them down. Anyway, I’m telling you this, because this way I can’t chicken out of it. So Edie, there’s something I want to say. To be continued … (in person if I’ve got my timings right …). If I haven’t, don’t go anywhere, I’m on my way.

I stand up, my legs a little unsteady, and stare down at my phone again. I’m not sure what I expect to happen, that he’ll magically appear like a genie, but I start scanning the beach around me. And that’s when I see him.

Joel is standing at the end of the pathway, still in his suit only now his tie is off and his top button is undone, and he’s barefoot with his shoes in his hand. If the email hadn’t stolen my breath, then the sight of him here sure does.