‘Some people are just meant to be together, aren’t they, Jude?’ Lana said to her fellow bridesmaid once the wedding breakfast was over and the tables were being cleared in readiness for the disco.

‘I guess so,’ said Jude.

Lana was drunk now, having taken advantage of all the free champagne laid on by Edward and Amelia Blythe. Judith, it seemed though, was entirely sober.

‘Lana, can we talk?’ Judith said. ‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Of course! Let’s get some fresh air.’

Sat outside in the cold December night on the seen-better-days garden furniture, they watched as two of Catrin’s little cousins chased each other round the tables, before one fell over and started crying.

‘Too much excitement for one day!’ their mother shouted.

‘Why do adults always say that?’ Lana asked, smiling. ‘When I have kids, I’m gonna let them run wild like feral dogs!’

They sat in silence for a few minutes and watched the evening guests arriving with presents under their arms, looking brighter and shinier than some of the day guests, upon whom the lunchtime drinking had taken its toll.

‘So what’s up, mate?’ asked Lana.

‘Not sure where to start, to be honest.’

‘Is it your weight? ’Cos I know you’ve put on, but honestly, Jude, you still look so beautiful and—’

‘No, it’s not that,’ said Judith, cutting her off.

‘Go on then, what?’ Lana asked gently, and reached in her bag for a cigarette.

‘Actually, d’you mind not smoking? Makes me feel a bit, y’know …’

This slightly irritated Lana, who felt she was already being very patient and indulgent of Judith’s strange mood. ‘Never bothered you before, me smoking.’

‘I know.’

‘And your flatmate’s a smoker. Gareth smokes. So how does that work?’

‘He doesn’t, actually. He’s given up. A couple of months back.’

‘Blimey.’ There was more silence, then Lana said, ‘And how is the delightful Gareth Metcalf?’ She laughed. ‘Does he still hate my guts?’ She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t mention him, but champagne-fuelled curiosity had got the better of her.

‘I don’t know,’ Judith sighed.

‘You know the Our Tune thing … I was drunk when I sent the letter off. I didn’t mean any of it. I hope he knows that?’

The truth was that Lana had been completely sober when she wrote to the Simon Bates show. But she’d felt so humiliated by Gareth’s lack of response to what she thought was a romantic gesture that her self-defence mechanism had kicked in and she’d turned it into one big drunken mistake.

‘Lana,’ Judith blurted it out. ‘I’m pregnant.’

In the background they could hear the evening DJ introducing himself.

‘What?’ Lana locked eyes with her, unable to process what she’d just been told. ‘You can’t be. Oh my God – Jude! Shit!’

So let’s have everyone on to the dance floor now as the bride and groom take their first dance … the DJ was saying as everyone applauded them on to the dance floor – Mr and Mrs Solomon Blythe.