‘Dad, can we go?’ I asked. ‘Freddie, get back in the car.’ The tears came then, and the hyperventilating, too. ‘Come on. Quickly. Quickly!’

I needed him to take me away. I wanted him to put us all in the car and drive until we hit the motorway, and then the sea, and then I wanted him to drive the car onto a big boat that would ferry us all the way to another continent forever and ever and ever. Just the three of us.

‘I’ll let everyone inside know,’ the wedding planner whispered. ‘I really am sorry, Annie.’

I pushed into the back of the car – thank god it was still there, that the driver hadn’t headed off for a fag break around the corner or anything – Dad waiting for me on the curb and then helpfully lifting up the trail of my dress so it wouldn’t drag or get dirty. As if that even mattered now.

‘What will you say?’ I croaked, as I sat back down. Freddie clung to my arm tightly. This was the worst thing to ever happen to me.

The wedding planner issued a sad grimace. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve had to do this before. Unfortunately.’

She closed the car door and Dad wound down the window.

‘Thank you,’ he said to her, quietly.

‘Look after yourself,’ she directed at me.

I let Freddie sneak in under the crook of my arm and stared out the window and didn’t reply. The car inched away from the curb, and within seconds the church was a speck in the rearview mirror.

Nobody said anything as we drove across town. I couldn’t hold on to a thought. Things kept coming into my mind – questions, mostly – and then leaving as quickly as they arrived because a barrage of other thoughts elbowed their way in, and then some more.

Was this really happening?

Did he ever want to marry me?

Is it because I’m too fat?

Because my teeth aren’t straight enough?

Has he had an affair, and got somebody else pregnant, and he only just found out and thinks choosing her over me would be the more upstanding choice?

Is he gay?

Did I hallucinate him ever wanting to get married in the first place? Did I imagine the ring, the way he had thoughts and opinions about the invitations and the seating plan, how excited he’d been to discover the band from his cousin’s wedding had had a cancellation and so could play ours, now?

What if he changed his mind, and got to the church after I’d already left?

What if he’s waiting there now, sorry and ashamed, praying the driver will turn around the car and as we circle back around to the church he’ll be waiting, running up to the car, crying, overcome with his own stupidity and practically dragging me inside before either of us can screw it up again?