Sadie has been a godsend helping with the wedding plans, and while I am so grateful to her for agreeing to be my Matron of Honour, I can’t help but feel a little bit odd that my Matron of Honour is a woman who I’ve only known for six months. As a child, I always thought that my wedding would be made up of family and life-long friends, but that was before my mother moved us from pillar to post, always in search of bigger and better. I think of her last wedding, the photos she had emailed over of herself in yet another ivory gown, a greying, older man at her side. I had offered to fly to Florida, to be there when she said her vows, convinced that she has finally found THE ONE, but she told me not to worry, that it was too expensive. I feel a pang of guilt when I think of Mags, the only proper friend I’ve had in recent years, before I push the thought of her away.

‘Sorry you had to make do with my hairdressing skills.’ Satisfied her job is done, Sadie sits on the edge of the bed and pours us both a glass of champagne. ‘I can’t believe your hairdresser let you down at the last minute. How are you feeling? Nervous?’

I take a cautious sip, careful not to smudge my make-up. The hairdresser being a no-show, and then telling me via text that I had cancelled the booking when I had done no such thing, had my blood pressure through the roof this morning but thank God for Sadie and her willingness to help. It’s not quite how I envisaged my hair on my big day, but it’s better than anything I could have done myself. ‘No, not really. Surprisingly un-nervous, if the truth be told. That must mean I’m doing the right thing, eh?’

‘It’s not too late to back out,’ Amanda pipes up from where she lounges on the bed, pillows piled up behind her as she puffs on a vape, a glass of champagne in her other hand. A cloud of sickly-sweet smelling smoke surrounds her thick dark hair as she smiles, but there is a touch of something caustic in her tone.

‘She’s got a point. You could call it off now, there’s still time,’ Sadie says, and I think she’s joking, only she’s not smiling. ‘Only kidding, Rupert and Emily are perfect for each other, aren’t you, Em?’

‘Absolutely.’ I let out a laugh, something made up of relief and nerves, before I take another, larger sip of wine, trying to quell the sudden fluttering in my stomach. ‘This is everything I’ve ever wanted. Rupert is everything I ever wanted.’ I honestly can’t wait until one o’clock, when I will become Mrs Milligan.