I smile as I run my fingers over the print, careful not to smudge the wording. Rupert insists on still calling himself ‘Osbourne-Milligan’, the double-barrelled surname that he and Caro agreed on when they were married, but it makes me feel a little odd, the idea of my name becoming entwined with Caro’s. Still, at least they didn’t put it in the engagement notice. I read over the words again, still feeling that fizz of excitement every time I see it. I should try and get another copy, one to send to my mum in Florida, so she knows I’m finally on my way to true happiness.

‘Here—’ Mags appears in the doorway and throws an empty duffel bag towards me. ‘You might as well keep it; I’m not going to be going anywhere.’ Mags perches on the end of the bed as I carefully place the scrapbook into the bag, stuffing the last of my things on top.

‘I haven’t had any more mail, have I?’ I ask, my breath catching in my throat. I’m half expecting Mags to pull out another envelope, but she shakes her head.

‘Only circulars and junk. I threw it out, like you asked.’

‘OK. Good. Well, that’s the last of it.’ Breathing out a sigh of relief, I sling the holdall over one shoulder, careful not to wrinkle my expensive top. ‘I suppose I’ll be off.’

‘Come here.’ Mags gets to her feet, pulling me into a hug. ‘Sorry for being arsey. I will miss you, though, you know that? And you know if it all goes tits up with Rupert, you can just move back in.’

I let Mags hug me, the scent of patchouli oil tickling my nose. ‘It won’t go tits up. I know it won’t. But thank you – for everything.’

I won’t let it, I think as I let myself out of the flat, out into the hot, sticky heat of summer in Swindon. This is the beginning of my new life. In just two short weeks I will be Rupert’s wife, and everything is going to be perfect.

One week later, I am dancing, my hair sweaty and stuck to my forehead, a gaudy sash tied across my body proclaiming me as the ‘bride-to-be’. I am in Bristol with Sadie, Amanda and a few others in their circle on my hen night, and I feel on top of the world. Sadie grabs me by the arm and tugs me towards the bar, intent on getting me another cocktail.

‘No, no,’ I laugh, my head already starting to spin from the alcohol.

‘It’s your hen do, and I’m in charge. I say drink.’ Sadie grins, and shoves a lurid pink drink into my hand. ‘Are you having fun?’

‘Yes, I really am,’ I give a drunken nod, ‘thank you so much for organizing this.’