‘She’s thirteen going on twenty-five,’ I teased. Freddie was actually called Frederica, but when she learned about the gender pay gap had decided she wanted a name ‘where you can’t tell if I am a girl or a boy on my CV, so they can’t discriminate’. She’s smart. Smarter than me.

Freddie relaxed into my lap and I inhaled the scent of her: Watermelon body lotion and hairspray lightly dancing through her loose ombré mane. I paid good money to get my roots a darker brown and my tips a lighter colour, but hers annoyingly went that way naturally.

‘Thank you for being my flawless bridesmaid,’ I whispered. ‘You’re my best girl.’

‘You’re my best girl,’ she whispered back. Then she had a thought, twisting up her nose in distaste. ‘But have you got a Tic-Tac? Your breath smells.’

I squealed, reaching to blow a raspberry on the back of her neck a beat too late – she’d already wriggled from my grasp in glee.

‘Not the lip gloss!’ Adzo howled, lunging over to separate us. ‘I’ve never made somebody look so good!’ Freddie bounded over to the other side of the room and, mindful of my dress, I moved comically in slow motion to chase after her. To her luck we were interrupted by the arrival of my dad as he let himself into the room with the key card we’d left at reception. We froze, collectively aware that playtime was over and wedding days were probably supposed to be a more serious affair than we were currently demonstrating.

‘Daddy!’ Freddie padded towards him. ‘We’ve had the best night. We had afternoon tea! And pizza in bed!’

He was wearing his favourite navy-blue suit and a fat red tie with a matching patterned handkerchief in his top pocket, his long Norwegian limbs looking longer than ever in his tailoring. He already had a tiny flute lily in his buttonhole, made to match my bouquet. Putting his arm around Freddie he took a breath and beamed at me.

‘So this is you on your wedding day, Froogle,’ he said as way of greeting, taking me in as I stood before him.

I grinned back. Seeing his eyes glisten made me tear up too, rendering me mute. Bloody weddings. You think you’ll be all nonchalant and not like all those other brides, and then bam: it hits you. You’re just as sappy and emotional as the next chick in white.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘Truly beautiful.’

Freddie tugged on his arm, slipping her hand into his. ‘I said she looked regal.’

‘Queen of the world.’ Dad smiled, and Adzo waved a tissue in front of my face in anticipation of what was to come.

‘Dab, don’t wipe,’ she instructed sternly. ‘Gently dab or you’ll smudge it all.’

I took a deep breath. My wedding day.