‘WhatsApp?’

‘That’s the one.’

Heather took the phone from him, opened WhatsApp and handed it back.

‘That simple, eh?’ he said ruefully. Then his eyes lit up. ‘Hey – we should add you to the group, since you’re going to be part of the family. Then you could read all the messages and pass along any pertinent information to me.’

‘I’m not sure how Tully and Rachel would feel about that.’

He looked up from his phone and considered her a moment. ‘Why? You all got along at lunch, right?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But we’ve only just announced the engagement; let’s give them some time to –’

‘Nonsense,’ Stephen said. ‘You just need more time to bond. You should have lunch!’

‘We just had lunch.’

‘No, I mean the three of you – you, Rachel and Tully – without me hanging around, cramping your style.’ Stephen nodded, warming to the idea. ‘You can do your girls talk, have some drinks . . . Rachel is mad about her baking. Get her going about that and she won’t shut up. And Tully, she’s mad about her little boys. Actually, she’s just plain mad. Gets it from me. The point is, you’re all going to have to get along, because none of you are going anywhere.’

Heather smiled. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘We’ll have another lunch.’

She got out a fresh glass and filled it with wine. As she did, she noticed Stephen watching her.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Would you like a glass?’

Stephen lifted his gaze, his brow ever so slightly furrowed. After a second, he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m fine.’

THE WEDDING

‘Is there a doctor in the house?’ someone shouts, which tells me Stephen is the one who is hurt. If not, he would be assisting, surely?

Of course, this being Stephen’s wedding, there are dozens of doctors present. A woman in the row in front of me passes her husband her handbag before pushing her way through the crowd, and a gentleman a few seats down from me stands too. I dutifully move out of the way, make myself smaller than I already am.

I should leave now, I realise. I wouldn’t want Stephen to know I was here. But given the dramatic turn of events, I find myself compelled to stay. I feel what must be a jolt of adrenaline – not common for me these days. I want to know what is happening. Did Pamela hit Stephen with the candlestick? Did she hit someone else? What happened?

There is the low hum of anxious conversation in the chapel. No one is quite sure what to do. The sacristy is out of eyeshot and to venture closer would seem voyeuristic. After all, it’s not as if I could assist in any way. In the distance, I hear the sound of sirens. Someone must have called an ambulance.

A woman at the end of our row with a sensible bob and a flouncy floral dress suggests that perhaps we should head outside to give the doctors some space. It is, after all, very tight in here. People stand and start shuffling out of the chapel, spilling out the doors and into the courtyard, where the ambulance has just pulled up.