None of this seems right. I can’t imagine Greg threatening Dad. He genuinely didn’t seem bothered about the wedding. But…but what if the threats had nothing to do with the wedding? What if he came round after I tried to kiss him and said those terrible things? A picture grows in my mind of Greg telling Dad to keep me away from him; of Greg telling Dad I had some stupid stalker crush on him, telling him about the kiss. Was that why Dad couldn’t look at me?

All these awful thoughts and more, they won’t go away. My dad is so mild and gentle, but what would he do if Julia’s ex told him his baby daughter had been round his house drinking and kissing him? What would it take to make my quiet father snap?

And where has Greg gone? What about his business? What about his sons? Did I do this with the angry threats I screamed at him when I went there? I think about the lies I told Bella and the trickle of fear becomes a full-on flood. What if she went round there and confronted him with what I said to her? If she did, then this is my fault. I made him run. How am I supposed to even look at Jack and Sean now? They’re going to know—they’re going to see guilt in my face.

The wedding is tomorrow. I have to speak to Bella. I have to tell her the truth before my lies get out and blow this whole thing apart.

August 2008: The Day of the Wedding

I wince as a hairpin jabs into my head but don’t say anything because Julia is working miracles. I watch in the mirror as she tames my frizz into a sleek coiled updo that makes my face look thinner and more…grown up. Her own hair is a mass of curlers and she’s still in her bathrobe. She shouldn’t be wasting her time on me on her own wedding day but she insisted.

She catches my eye in the mirror and smiles. “What do you think?”

“I love it,” I say, smiling back. “Can you get up at six and do my hair like this every day?”

She laughs and steps back. “There, you’re done.” She pauses. “Thank you, Tess.”

“For what?” I say, getting up and unzipping the dress carrier hanging on the front of my wardrobe.

“For everything.”

“It’s going to be brilliant,” I say. “The weather is perfect and we have enough champagne to get the whole world drunk.”

“Well then,” she says. “I’d better go and get ready, hadn’t I?”