She’d continued her weekly counselling sessions with Inna, which had been wonderful, even though they had taken their toll. She was delighted to realise that her husband-to-be was not abusive, but at the same time it was hard not to be able to trust herself. If she was capable of getting something so wrong, how could she ever trust herself again? It was a perfectly normal fear, according to Inna, who assured her it would pass. The main thing was that she had things clear in her head now. Her father was a bad man. Stephen was good. The falls, the trips, the miscarriage – they were accidents. Stephen would never hurt her. He would never hurt anyone.

‘Can I have everyone’s attention, please?’

Heather looked around. Stephen was standing on a chair, gesturing for guests to pay attention. When he caught Heather’s eye, he looked a little guilty. He’d promised not to give a speech. Heather didn’t like the attention. At the same time, she knew she’d have a hard time keeping him quiet. It was a social occasion, and social occasions always brought out the emotion in Stephen.

‘It is a delight to have you all here tonight,’ he started. ‘If you’re here, it means that, whether you are an old or new friend, you’re among my and Heather’s nearest and dearest. We have had a rather . . . unconventional courtship. And I’ll admit it’s one that took me by surprise.’ At this he looked directly at Heather and smiled so warmly, she found it hard to think of anything but how lucky she was. ‘I have been very fortunate in my life. I’ve known a lot of joy. A couple of years ago, I thought my time for joy had ended. And I was okay with that. It seemed fair, after all the happiness I’d had, that I should know suffering. Now I find that I have a new chapter ahead with this amazing woman . . . I don’t even know how to express my gratitude. So’ – he gestured to Heather – ‘I’d like to raise a glass to my lovely wife-to-be, Heather Wisher. Tomorrow, Heather Aston.’

Heather drained her champagne and collected another glass from a circling waiter.

‘Heather Aston,’ everyone chorused.

Stephen climbed off his chair and came to her side. He pressed his lips against her forehead and she leaned against the solid mass of him. In the past few months, he’d become such a haven for her. Such a comfort. A week ago, after discussing it with Inna, she’d told him the truth about her parents. Inna had convinced her that Stephen wasn’t going to change his feelings for her over it, and after a while she’d come to believe that. Still, she’d been unprepared for his response.

‘I was wondering when you’d tell me.’

Heather had stared at him. ‘You knew?’

He smiled sadly. ‘Your mother was brought into the hospital I worked at all those years ago. Doug Wisher’s name was spoken for months at work. When you told me your surname and said that your parents had died, it wasn’t hard to work out who you were.’