‘Esther’s here,’ I said, my eyes still trained on the two of them. Esther was Sophie’s au pair back in the day, at least in part. She didn’t look back at me, but I sensed she was feeling the laser bounce between her shoulder blades.

‘I know!’ said Sophie, smiling as she twisted her head to look over to her. ‘It’s been ages since we saw her. Who do you think the hottie is?’

‘He looks creepy to me.’

Disappointment swept across her face again. Why was her big sister such a shrew?

‘Alright, he’s not George Clooney,’ conceded Sophie, ‘but… it’s nice if she’s met someone. What is she, nearly forty? It’s not easy at that age.’

Or thirty-one, as it turned out. My sister’s well-intentioned pity added to my spikiness.

‘She’s thirty-five,’ I snapped back. I could pretty much run through all of Esther’s vital statistics if anyone ever needed them. A coroner perhaps. Or a judge.

‘I think it’s really nice that Josh and Chloe invited her.’

‘Yeah, but do you think it was them that invited her?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, it’s their baby’s christening.’

Josh was glaring at me now, angrily tapping his watch. I felt a stab of loneliness, then steeled myself. I just had to get through the next few hours. In a way, it was a good thing no one was by my side. How would I make sense of any of this to them, when it made absolutely no sense to me?

‘Come on, then,’ I said, setting off down the aisle. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

‘You’ll be great,’ said Sophie, squeezing my arm. ‘Lucky old Nancy.’

I gave her a grateful smile. It turned out I wasn’t alone: I had my sister.

The guests funnelled up the stairs of the predictably chi chi restaurant that Josh and Chloe had picked for the reception, their braying confidence amplified in the narrow space. The upstairs function room was festooned with pink balloons, smartly dressed waiting staff handing out flutes of champagne at the door. My primal monkey paw grabbed one before my brain had caught up. Mum’s eyes burned with disappointment.

‘Oh, come on, it’s a celebration!’ I said, the sweet-sour taste hitting the back of my throat in a welcome gush. ‘I want to be able to toast Nancy. I’m her godmother.’

Her face flickered with uncertainty. I took a more measured sip, smiled at her. She was seduced by the normality, I could tell. Her visible relief flooded me with shame. Made me dangerous.

‘Can we have one for my mum, too?’ I said, reaching out a hand towards the silver tray. The waiter holding it was dark-haired, with almond-shaped eyes. ‘She’s the grandmother after all!’