‘I hear that,’ Lily said as she joined the huddle. ‘Imagine knowing your best mate is becoming a slave to the patriarchy with a bloke who …’ When she saw my expression, she petered out and softened her tone. ‘Ah, fuck it, I’m obviously delighted for you, babes. Come here and let me at you.’ Lily was my loudest and angriest friend. We’d met at university where we’d both been a part of the same feminist book club, recommended by our module tutor at the time. Lily had shouted from one side of the room to the other that, despite what another woman had argued, Twilight was absolutely not a feminist novel. And I’d loved her from that moment on.

‘Thanks, Lil.’

‘Hey.’ She pushed me back to get a look at my face. ‘Don’t turn into one of those stuck-up married cows who doesn’t see her single friends, will you?’

‘Christ. Absolutely not.’

‘Then we’ll all get along just fine.’ She set her glass down. ‘I’ll go and infiltrate the men to congratulate your worse half, then I’ll get the drinks in. Bubbles?’

‘Lil, you don’t need—’

‘Good, bubbles,’ she said, already walking away.

‘Let her fuss over you.’ It was Betty’s turn to pull me towards her. ‘God, let us all fuss.’ She rested the back of her hand against my forehead as though gauging my temperature. ‘Don’t seem to be signs of a fever.’ She felt each cheek. ‘Have you taken any hallucinogenic substances? More importantly, did he give you any?’

Cora pushed her aside. ‘Betty, don’t ruin the moment.’

‘Oh, she knows I’m just bitter.’ Betty spread her arms and wrapped one around me, the other around Cora. ‘Bitter, wrapped up with a bow of excitement, and only too ready for you to be Bridezilla for months on end.’

I kissed her cheek. ‘You’re in it for the hen night.’

‘And I’m in it for the hen ni— night? Not weekend?’

We created a close huddle of laughter and running mascara. The girls took it in turns to hug me – deep-feeling hugs that went all the way through my body. One by one they pulled away and wiped their eyes, apart from Molly, who didn’t go to the trouble of hiding her tears. She let them tumble – bulbous and glistening black as they stripped away her eye make-up – and she moved straight from hugging me to hugging Betty (who muttered under her breath but held Molly together all the same). We laughed more, and wiped away more tears in the minutes that followed while I told them about the proposal – a cupcake, topped with my engagement ring during a day out in Stratford – and how Mum and Dad had taken the news.