The first memory was the vicar speaking the words: Speak now, or forever hold your peace.

No-one spoke. When did that ever happen, outside of Gothic novels and romantic comedies? But he’d been aware of a slight movement from Finn, a glance passing between him and Ava, which Paul in his heightened state instantly interpreted as meaning, Want me to? and Ava’s wordless reply, It’s fine. And at almost the same time, Nate on his right-hand side stirred and coughed and when Paul frowned at him, he saw the same question written on Nate’s face. You sure? And then the moment was past, and the ceremony rolled on, the vicar seemingly unaware of the supporting parties for both the bride and the groom subtly implying that perhaps this marriage was, after all, a mistake.

The second memory was how it felt when the vicar told him to kiss the bride. Ava’s lips beneath his, tasting faintly of chemical strawberries, and the knowledge that he’d finally done it; he’d made her his.

“Lovely reception.” “Fabulous reception.” “Brilliant choice for the reception.” Compliments fluttered like confetti as the guests streamed through the elegant Georgian portico, pale and ornate like the wedding-cake. “Glorious place for a reception.”

Paul’s mother, who had been swollen with anger since Finn had cheerfully explained that he and Ava had come on the bus, relaxed and began to smile. “Our wedding present to them,” she told the guests, and after her third glass of champagne, “My wedding present to Paul.”

“Thought she wasn’t going to show,” Paul’s uncle murmured in the startling glossy white of the tiled bathroom.

“Christine said that.” Paul’s father rinsed his hands beneath huge brass taps. “Mind you, I think she might have found the silver lining.”

“Still not keen?” Peter grimaced.

“Still not keen. Thinks she’s not good enough.” David reached for a fluffy square of towel. “Well, no, that’s not it. She just – you know, Ava – difficult background. Skeletons in the closet.” He inspected the towel. “D’you know, these things look just like Paul’s old nappies.”

“Meant to ask,” said Peter. “Where were all her family?”

“You saw it. Her brother. That scruffy pillock who walked her down the aisle.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yep. The parents – well, now I come to think of it, I’m not sure what happened to the parents. I mean, I assume they’re dead. Anyway, Ava pretty much brought him up. They were in some sort of foster care for a while. Then it was just the two of them.”

“Huh.”

“I mean,” said David, “it’s pretty impressive. The way she took responsibility. But still.” He shrugged. “Maybe Christine’s got a point. You never quite know what goes on in her head… ”

“Ah well. Too late now.”

David laughed. “Just the next forty years of sighs and looks and awkwardness to get through. God, what an awful conversation to have on your son’s wedding day. Let’s get another drink.”

Peter clapped him on the shoulder with a slightly damp hand. “It’ll settle down once there’s a sprog on the way.”