‘Something not so – businesslike. This isn’t a business meeting, it’s a wedding, for God’s sake.’

‘OK. Let’s look,’ said Irene, trying not to glance at the time.

‘There’s nothing that’s quite right.’

‘What about this skirt and then your lovely white shirt with the flared sleeves?’

‘Do you think?’

‘Try it.’

They heard Jem’s voice, calling up to them to hurry.

‘Don’t worry, we’ve got a bit of time still,’ said Irene. ‘There. Let’s have a look at you.’

‘Is it better?’

‘You look gorgeous. Very romantic. Have you got a necklace or anything? This one. Let me fasten it.’

‘And these earrings.’

‘Juliet!’ came Jem’s voice again. ‘Everyone’s waiting. If you want to get married today, you’d better hurry.’

‘Perfume,’ said Juliet, and sprayed a bottle wildly over her face and down her cleavage, then squirted a bit at Irene.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’

Twenty-four

It was all over so very quickly. What would Irene remember, later? That Jem spoke clearly and Juliet in a rush, her words tumbling with each other. That afterwards they both cried and laughed at the same time, squeezing each other’s fingers with their new gold bands. That Jem’s mother cried too, surreptitiously, behind a strip of lavatory roll, dabbing carefully at her eyes to make sure her mascara didn’t smudge, while on the bench behind her, her ex-husband sat with his new family, a beatific, several-glasses-of-wine smile on his face and tears in his boyish blue eyes. He’d kissed Amanda on the mouth when they met, told her she was looking marvellous, who would have guessed so many years had passed, and she’d inclined her expressionless face and turned away. That Irene’s own hand shook when she signed the form. That Juliet’s parents sat at the front anxiously holding hands and nodding at the incomprehensible French, and that her mother wore an enormously brimmed hat, like a flying saucer. That Jem’s friends Peter Wallis and Terence Lott shared a bench at the back that creaked bitterly whenever one of them shifted his weight. That every few minutes Luke handed lemon bon-bons to the three girls to stop them fidgeting, and that Emma spent the short ceremony picking the scab off her left knee and then rubbing away the subsequent beads of blood with her licked forefinger. That Katherine fell asleep in her father’s arms, so her head lolled on his shoulder and a small thread of saliva hung from her fat pink lip. That the hall smelt of camphor and beeswax. That at a certain point she had been unable to stop herself from remembering her own wedding when she’d worn a scarlet dress, no shoes and a rose in her hair.