Digby’s parents lived in Bristol for the winter months, a place she had only visited twice. Despite her dad’s dire summing-up of the place – ‘You wouldn’t catch me going there. It’s all townies! The same townies that drive us mad all summer – but they’re everywhere, all the time! They ain’t never going home because they are home! Townies with their fancy restaurants, too many cars and pollution. You don’t wanna go anywhere near it, my little maid . . .’ But much to her surprise, she had quite liked the city with its noise, traffic, shops, busy streets and harbourside – a bustling place with enough water and boats to make it feel familiar – she hadn’t even minded the townies and their coffee shops. Although she had been a little stunned at the opulence of the Mortimers’ vast and beautiful Palladian Clifton home, which was fronted with tall stone pillars and wide steps, she knew she wouldn’t mind making trips here when necessary.

Both Digby and his father oversaw the biscuit empire that had made the Mortimer family fortune. Like her family’s long tradition of fishing, the Mortimers had run their business for five generations. But unlike fishing, the biscuit world seemed a little bit more predictable and a lot more lucrative than the catching and gutting of fish, on account of the fact that, if the catch was a little thin, her dad couldn’t whip up a batch on the kitchen table.

Merrin rubbed the damp soles of her feet on the rug, as her mum held her shoulders, bending low to kiss her scalp.

‘My little girl, getting married! I honestly can’t believe it.’

‘Don’t cry again,’ Merrin instructed. Not only did she find her mum’s emotions hard to handle, but she wanted everyone to look their best, and puffy lids with purple dots of distress around her nose was not Heather Kellow’s finest look.

‘I’m not.’ Her mum sniffed through her tears. ‘I just can’t believe it.’ She shook her head.

‘So you’ve said. Do you mean you can’t believe someone wants to marry me full stop or you can’t believe it’s happening today?’