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

‘Thank you,’ he said to her, woefully.

‘Look after yourself,’ she directed at me.

I let Freddie sneak in under the crook of my arm and stared out the window. Adzo tapped her foot but didn’t speak. Even she didn’t know what to say. The car inched away from the kerb, and within seconds the church was a speck in the rear-view mirror.

We drove in silence. Things kept coming into my mind – questions, mostly – leaving as quickly as they arrived because then a barrage of other thoughts elbowed their way in, and then some more for good measure.

Was this really happening?

Had he ever wanted to marry me?

Was it because I was too fat?

Because my teeth weren’t straight enough?

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

Was he gay?

Had I hallucinated 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 overjoyed he’d been to discover the band from his cousin’s wedding had had a cancellation and so could play at ours, now?

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

What if he was waiting there, sorry and ashamed, praying my driver would turn around the car and as we circled back around to the church he’d be waiting, running up to us, crying, overcome with his own foolishness and practically dragging me inside before either of us could screw it up again?

What would Mum say?

It looked as though Freddie wanted to cry and was trying really hard not to.

I hated this. I hated this. I hated this.

‘Stop,’ I said to the driver. ‘Stop the car.’

‘Are you sure?’ he replied, slowing down and glancing over his shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

I made for the door, grabbing at the handle before we’d fully stopped, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes. Somewhere near Kings Cross, I elbowed my way out of the car, tourists and buses and black cabs and shoppers lingering to watch me throw up all over my gown.

‘She looks like she’s having a bad day,’ I heard somebody say.

3

The immediate aftermath of being stood up on my wedding day was exactly as crap as anyone would imagine.