Instead we ended up with the works: silver service, tuxes and tiaras, plus the incredible view from the pier’s ballroom, suspended on iron struts a quarter of a mile out to sea. Andrew’s an only child, and his mother Isabel travelled to Paris for her couture outfit; she would never have forgiven us for not doing it ‘properly’.

And we obliged, because one day seemed like nothing, when we had many thousands more ahead of us.

Or thought we did . . .

Shit. I can taste the tears, but I won’t let them out.

The shot returns to us again.

My face hasn’t changed much. It is only three years ago, after all. But I can see the difference. Video-Gemma seems girlish and naive. Her face glows with unfiltered expectation as Andrew takes her hand and she treads carefully around the pooling layers of fabric of her train.

I glimpse the silk jigsaw-puzzle waistcoat under Andrew’s morning suit, can remember how cool it felt as I touched it, and how I was counting the hours till I could touch the hot skin underneath.

As we gaze at each other, we’re trying so hard not to giggle, because marriage is a serious commitment.

Again we look like children. We have no clue what lies ahead.

Laura would accuse me of self-indulgence if she knew I was watching this, but I’m not a masochist. This fortifies me for the next twenty-eight days.

A loud snore to my left makes me turn away from the screen.

‘Boring you, am I?’

Bear opens his eyes, sighs and stretches out his legs so his hairy body takes up almost half the sofa. He got up with me at 2 a.m., after I woke needing the loo and realized that today is when the rigmarole starts up again. I couldn’t sleep after that, and he joined me on the sofa. He’s been dreaming ever since, whiskers and paws twitching, in pursuit of imaginary squirrels.

It’s hot already, so I open the doors onto our tiny balcony. I crane my neck towards the suspension bridge. A shimmering golden balloon rises above the trees, the first of many.

‘Come on, dude! Let’s go out now, before it gets too hot.’

Bear could happily snooze until midday, so when I grab his lead he opens only one eye, not believing I’m serious about going for a walk this early. I reach for his favourite of the many balls he’s abandoned on the floor. He opens the other eye. The ball only bounces once before he leaps off the sofa with a delighted bark.

‘That’s more like it.’

I glance at the TV screen, which shows Andrew whispering in my ear. The sound is still muted, but in my head I can hear the opening bars of our first dance song, ‘One Day Like This’. A long, uplifting anthem, which brought all our guests onto the dance floor to join us.

And I can hear what he whispers: Thank you for solving the puzzle.