“Jesus, Saoirse, you can be so damn difficult. You’re not a child, you don’t get to act like this anymore.” He took several more deep breaths, to let me know how patient and put-upon he was for having to deal with me. “I’m guessing you need to sleep it off, so go do that, but this evening we’re having dinner and we’re going to talk about it.”

“About what?” I said brightly.

He ran his hands through his hair and when he spoke his voice didn’t sound as firm.

“You know what I mean. The wedding. There are . . . other implications, OK? Things I need to talk to you about.”

“So tell me now.”

“Not like this. You’re hungover. You smell like a brewery, and you need to get some sleep. “Oh, and . . .” He paused there and the silence was like the moment in a horror film before the guy in the mask jumps out and stabs you in the gut. “On Friday Beth is coming around for dinner. You will be there.”

“Thanks for the invite, but I’m not interested.”

“Get interested,” he said. “You will be there. You’re behaving like a stroppy thirteen-year-old. Your mother would be ashamed.”

The words nearly winded me. I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth would break.

“You know, Dad, I wouldn’t worry about it. In a few years, I’ll have forgotten your name and you and Beth can shove me in a home with Mum and get on with your lives.”

He didn’t say he would never do that. I wouldn’t believe him if he did. He didn’t say anything at all.

I got out of the car and marched inside, slamming the front door behind me. Up in my room, I dove under the covers. Though I was exhausted, it took me ages of tossing and turning to fall asleep. I didn’t hear him come inside.

See, this is the thing I haven’t really said yet. My mum didn’t leave my dad. She didn’t abandon me. She didn’t shack up with a motorcycle gang member or a pen salesman. She has early-onset dementia. Last September Dad decided he couldn’t look after her anymore and she needed to go into full-time care. She is fifty-five and she sometimes can’t remember how to wash herself. She forgot my name a long time ago. Do you think your mother can love you if she doesn’t know who you are?