Merrin had put it down to the woman’s enthusiasm and confidence when it came to matters of taste. But right now, no matter how she had come by the dress, Merrin felt like a princess, as she had always secretly hoped she might, and she was aware that she should catalogue each second and every emotion so that, one day, she could tell their children about how she had looked and, more importantly, how she had felt in these, her final moments as a single girl on her wedding day.

The photographer was downstairs, ready to capture her as she came down the narrow wooden stairs and waltzed out of the house to start the next chapter of her life, so she pulled her full ivory taffeta skirt out before running her fingers over the flat diamanté band across her stomach. Her shoulders were bare, dusted with bronzer. The wide collar of the dress sat snugly over her décolletage. Her mum, she had to admit, hadn’t done a bad job with her hair and loose curls grazed her neck while the sides were artfully pinned in a messy half-bun on top. And Heather was right: you couldn’t see the crispy burnt bit now it was tucked in.

‘So what do you think, Rubes?’ she said to her sister, who was sitting on her bed in a floaty, lilac-coloured bridesmaid’s frock, her make-up, thankfully, toned down a bit at Bella’s suggestion, and with her knees bunched up under her chin. ‘Rubes?’ She turned, alarmed by the silence, wondering if it was because maybe she didn’t look quite as fabulous as she had thought; was something amiss with her hair? Merrin braced herself for a cutting insight from her sister’s sassy mouth. To her astonishment, her big sister, who had once pulled out her own rear tooth rather than make a trip to the dentist, who always captained the winning team in the annual Port Charles rowing regatta, and who had a certain reputation for being as tough as old boots, looked very close to tears.

‘Oh, Rubes! What’s the matter?’ As Merrin bent down and rested her knees on the side of her sister’s bed, her dress rose up around her like a giant, shiny puffball.

‘You look . . . you look incredible! And I’m . . . I’m really going to miss you! Even if I say I won’t.’ She stuttered her admission, this girl who loved fiercely.

Merrin pushed her finger up under her nose, a little overwhelmed by the rare sentiment so openly expressed, but at the same time not wanting the tears that threatened to smudge the neat slick of mascara she had applied to her top lashes.

‘I’m going to miss you too,’ she managed, unable to disguise the croak to her voice.

‘He’d better be good to you . . .’ Ruby spoke through gritted teeth.