When we arrived at the church it was a surprise to see the wedding planner outside waiting for us. She’d told me the night before to take all the time I needed to get out of the car, to fuss with last-minute touch-ups and pruning and to take a big breath. She was supposed to be waiting for me at the church doors, having made sure everyone had found their seat okay. Seeing her, I frowned.

‘Who is that?’ asked Freddie.

‘Chantelle,’ I muttered, my palms clamming up. ‘Something’s not right. She should be inside.’

Dad peered out of the window at her. ‘I’m sure everything is fine,’ he said, cautiously. ‘I can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be.’

Chantelle approached the car looking tired and wan, and instantly I thought that the minister had taken sick and we’d have to get married by somebody we’d never met before. That was the first thing that popped into my head. The second thing was that maybe something was up with the cake or we didn’t have enough ice for the champagne. But catering stuff was at the reception – a problem for later, not for now.

Maybe she’s come to tell me how excited Alexander seems.

Maybe he’s sent a message for me.

Maybe she’s come to tell me how much he loves me, how he wants me to get into the church as fast as I can.

‘What do you mean he’s not coming?’

‘Well,’ the wedding planner said slowly. ‘It seems he’s had … a change of heart.’

‘A change of heart?’

She looked at me with wide eyes, willing me to understand. ‘I did try to call.’ She gave an apologetic smile to my dad and sister. Asma had already run off ahead to nab a spot in a pew, which made me mad now. How hadn’t she understood what was about to happen? How had she been so optimistic even when Chantelle had looked so afraid? I needed my friend. I needed Asma to stand beside me and ask all the questions I couldn’t force out of my mouth myself.

Alexander wasn’t coming.

It was my wedding day. It was my wedding day, and the sky was blue and my dad was by my side and the wedding planner, who had a smear of pinky lipstick on her front tooth that made me instinctively run my tongue against my own in case I did too, had just told me my fiancé had text to say the wedding was off.

‘Sorry. I’m just trying to … get handle on all … this.’ I gestured to the air in front of me. ‘Just to confirm: did you try to call me, or him?’ My eyes felt itchy, my thoughts like they were being pulled through treacle.