There’s no rush like it, when somebody says out loud that you’re the person they want to build something with. I think the most uncertain bit of my life was turning thirty and feeling like everyone else had plans and I wasn’t quite an adult yet. Moving in with Alexander made me a grown-up, on the same track as everyone else. I made him dinners and organized our furniture, and got curiously into doing stuff I swore I never would – being the one to buy his mum’s birthday card, or suggesting dinner parties so I could meet the partners of his work colleagues and rugby pals. I enjoyed it. Revelled in it. We finally wanted the same things, too.

When I arrived at the church with Dad, Freddie and Adzo, it was a surprise to see the wedding planner outside, looking corporate and businesslike in a black suit with cropped pants and flat ballet pumps, her silky dark hair in a low ponytail. She’d told me the night before, in her lilting Sri Lankan tones, 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. Everybody waits for the bride, she’d repeated, over and over. You can take your time, okay? She was supposed to be waiting for me at the church doors, having made sure everyone was seated. Seeing her, I frowned.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Freddie, clocking my furrowed brow.

‘Happy,’ I muttered, my palms immediately clamming up. My body knew before my mind could catch up that things were about to go wrong. My spidey-senses were doing somersaults. ‘Something’s not right. She should be at the church doors.’

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

We let what he’d said hang in the air.

Happy approached the car as we pulled up, looking tired and wan – categorically not how you want your wedding planner to look. 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 buckets. But catering stuff was at the reception, a problem for later, not for now.

Maybe she’s come to tell me how emotional 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.

But that’s not what she said.

‘What do you mean he’s not coming?’

‘Urm …’ Happy stalled, uncomfortably. ‘He messaged me. And it seems he’s had … a change of heart.’