Our wedding, back in July, was a dream from start to finish, with everything going exactly according to plan. Sophie’s string quartet of friends from university re-formed to play me down the aisle to a haunting rendition of ‘I’m Kissing You’ by Des’ree, I wore a Valentino-inspired lace vintage dress that felt as exquisite as it looked, Jack was dashing in an emerald green suit and the sun shone for us all day. Even Emily and Kirsty played the role of bridesmaids to perfection and managed not to try and outshine each other too much in the glamour stakes. When Matthew sang our first dance, a medley of our favourite songs, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house – or on the patio, I should say, as that’s where we were blessed to have the ceremony just as we’d planned it.

I never did hear from Tom again after I deleted his message of congratulations on the night of our engagement party. Even though I yearned to know what he had written in his message, I reminded myself that I’d done the right thing by not opening it when I was already so vulnerable and emotional after hearing Matthew sing.

I had decided I couldn’t allow myself to keep looking back in life. My future was with Jack, a life with him in Dublin, my job in teaching and in making sure the wedding everyone was so looking forward to would be one made of dreams, so I put my feelings on autopilot and drove on.

The only unplanned moment of the most perfect day was when Matthew had taken me to one side in the hotel foyer as guests danced to country jives in the adjoining function room, oblivious to the moment we were about to share when we’d finally put the elephant in the room to bed.

The look of fear on his face told me what was coming.

I sat down on one of the plush velvet armchairs and he pulled his wheelchair in as close to me as he possibly could.

‘Charlotte … I need to apologize …’

‘Matthew, you don’t have to say anything,’ I told him, taking his hand which was cold and shaking. ‘Please don’t be torturing yourself any more. It’s over. It’s in the past.’

Even though we’d never, ever mentioned Tom since that fateful day in Sullivan’s Bar, I’d caught him so many times over the past two years lost in memories and lost in time, staring into space in deep thought. I didn’t want to see him in any more pain, not when he was doing so well.