We go back and join the party where Martin has now taken the lead, totally changing the mood by singing ‘Amarillo’ which has everyone dancing. Before long, Sophie and I are in fits laughing as we lead everyone in an Abba tribute, singing and dancing our hearts out.

I catch Matthew’s eye as I sing about being a dancing queen and we both silently acknowledge the bridge we’ve both crossed this evening. He is back doing what he does best with the man he loves by his side, I am singing again with a friend I adore in an apartment I love and with Jack who I’m planning a future with.

Life is moving on in the right direction and I’m singing from the inside out. Even Marjorie and Jack Sr take to the floor, followed by my own parents who I feel are going to do everything they can to show that anything the Malones can do, they can do better.

‘Oscar might come in and join us for a beer,’ Dad says to me at a musical interlude, still dancing as he speaks.

‘It’s the curse of the working class!’ I say, impressing him very much with my Oscar knowledge. ‘I’m a big fan too, Dad. You brought me up to have good taste!’

He dances on very smugly, hugely pleased with himself, and I shed a tiny tear of happiness, thinking of how far we’ve all come since we sat in that lonely hospital corridor willing Matthew’s life to be saved.

‘That I did, my girl!’ he says, tilting his chin out again. ‘That, I did!’

The evening passes with no more tears, except from Kirsty who after way too much wine called her new beau by her ex’s name and he stormed out, oh and my aunt Bridie who was just so proud of me she couldn’t stop blubbing (though I do think it was the Chardonnay). By the time the last of the guests leave, I’m delighted to hear nothing but silence and the sound of Jack pottering around in the bathroom as he gets ready for bed.

I remove my heels, marvelling in the feeling of my toes in the warmth of the deep pile living room carpet, and take my phone from the charger to have a quick glimpse at what’s been going on tonight in the outside world while we’ve been celebrating.

Streams of messages filter through from well-wishers and guests who joined us tonight, thanking us for such a wonderful evening, and I smile as I read them, but then my heart jumps when I see an email in my inbox from an address I used to write to all the time.

The subject matter just says ‘Congratulations Charlie’ and the sender is Tom Farley.