Julie and Aiden got engaged and married a year before we did. Their wedding day was lavish and fun. They had the works; no expense spared. Church bells. Choir with Aled Jones-esque soloist; heart-breaking, jaw-dropping. Reception at Hampton Court Palace. Sit-down meal that deserved a Michelin star. Wedding favours. Toast after toast.

But less than a year later, a week or so before Miles and I tied the knot, Julie turned up at our house, announcing that she was leaving Aiden. She knew I was away on a business trip – I had spoken to her on the phone that very morning. Allegedly she was asking Miles for shelter and advice.

I always wondered whether there was more to it than that. Did she come to tell him how she felt about him, hoping he wouldn’t marry me?

After talking to Miles, she left Aiden, didn’t come to our wedding, and went home to live with her parents. Only after our wedding did she then return to her husband. Was it because she had failed to entice Miles away from me? It is something I will never know the answer to. Miles says the conversation he had with her that night is confidential, and he is a man who always keeps his word.

When Julie finally left Aiden for good, over five years ago, I became Aiden’s challenge. His revenge against his brother for being the one that his woman wanted. If he could bed me, he would. A stag thing; wanting to rut his competition’s mate. Despite the fun I have being with him, the disingenuous nature of his attention always annoys me. Not for the first time in our relationship, he places his hand on my arm.

‘Please stop touching me,’ I snap.

5

Aiden

I’m at my favourite restaurant. And you are sitting opposite me, drinking sparkling mineral water while I nurse a large glass of Bourgogne Aligoté. It has been a huge burden to me, falling in love with my brother’s woman. I put my hand on your arm and squeeze it; in empathy, in camaraderie. But you wince. Your body stiffens.

‘Please stop touching me,’ you snap.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it,’ I reply, pulling my hand away. Your eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. But as I know every movement of your volatile face, I can tell you think I did mean something. ‘Look, Saffron,’ I continue, ‘I just want to know how it’s going for you now that Mother has moved into your house.’

You sigh and shake your head. ‘I try so hard to get on with her, but it is time to admit to you that I don’t find your mother easy.’