It was not the fairy-tale beginning she had been planning and picturing for months. It was in fact their ending. This was happening. It was real. They were done. Her body felt hollowed out, scooped of all substance, and she was no more than a shell of her former self, frail and pulled eggshell thin with disappointment.

‘I can’t believe it.’ She whispered the truth.

‘You are the most amaz—’

‘Shut the fuck up, Digby!’ she snapped. ‘Don’t you dare give me that bullshit about how fantastic I am and how someone will be lucky to have me, or whatever other crap you are about to spout.’

He closed his mouth.

Her breath came in gulps and it was hard to get words out through a throat so narrowed with distress. ‘I don’t know how to get over this, not right now. I honestly can’t see what happens next.’ She bit her lip. ‘So many people hurt, embarrassed, involved’ – she pictured the girls shielding her on the cart – ‘and they’re all waiting to give you a piece of their mind.’

‘I’ve already had a run-in with Ruby.’

She ignored him. ‘I feel so stupid. I thought you were someone different, someone I could open up to. I‘ve told you everything, painted a picture of the life I wanted, and now I wish I hadn’t. I thought I could trust you. I believed you, I thought we were on the same page, but turns out we weren’t even reading the same book.’ A fresh batch of tears gathered and she did nothing to stem them.

He looked at her and again his mouth flapped as he tried to form the words that might make everything a bit better. Had such words existed.

‘I never wanted to hurt you, Merrin. You are fantastic and I don’t deserve you.’

‘Damn right you don’t.’ Her voice was reedy.

‘My mother, she’s . . .’

‘Don’t embarrass yourself by laying this at your mother’s door!’ She faced him fully, allowing him for the first time to see her face and the distress seeping from her. She saw his eyes momentarily crinkle, as if he were disturbed by the sight. ‘You’re not a child. You are a grown-up, able to make your own decisions.’

‘I wish it were that simple.’ He gave an ironic snort of laughter. ‘But it isn’t. My parents pay my salary, insure my car, own my car, pay my credit card.’ He bit his lip. ‘She asked me what I would do if they withdrew their support and’ – he shook his head – ‘it threw me. I mean . . . what would I do?’