No.

It was Judith’s betrayal that stung the most. And thinking back to last night, the two best friends of the bride standing there in their bridesmaid dresses, surrounded by nuptial frills and floral arrangements and delicate decorations … she had no regrets.

She only wished she’d pushed her harder.

Downstairs in the distance she’d vaguely heard the doorbell go and her mother answer it. Lana pulled the duvet over her head, willing the world to go away.

Seconds later, footsteps on the stairs, her mother’s voice raised – She’s still asleep, love, she won’t thank you for waking her – and then the door burst open.

‘Lana.’

She struggled to focus on the figure in the room. Taut with intimidating rage and staring directly at her.

Gareth.

‘Get out!’ she yelled, retreating back under the duvet. But no sooner had she done so than she felt it pulled back off again by Gareth, who was staring down at her, wild-eyed and hauntingly calm.

‘The baby died,’ he said, his voice steady. ‘Happy now?’

‘W-what?’ she stammered, trying to process what he’d said.

He ignored her and carried on, choosing not to tell her there’d been twins – she’d find out soon enough, and for now he just wanted her to suffer like he was suffering. He was there to deliver a single clear message. ‘You don’t contact Judith ever again, d’you hear me? You stay out of her life. And mine. And you never see her again, understand?’

‘Gareth,’ she whispered, shock inhibiting her speech. ‘I am so, so sorry.’

But he’d already turned and was marching towards the door.

‘Gareth, please!’

And with the hard December rain bashing against her curtained bedroom windows, Lana was left sobbing, friendless and utterly alone.

Part Two

2005

Eighteen years later

32

Catrin

When she arrived at her parents’ house after morning surgery, Catrin found her mother at it again, this time in the living room.

‘Mum! How many times? Romy is not wearing the gown!’

Liz Kelly stared back at her, mortified, like a schoolgirl caught in the act.

‘Look! It’s digging in … oh, bless her,’ she said, removing the ill-fitting dress. ‘Honestly, stop it, will you?’ Catrin picked up her baby girl, who gurgled delightedly, eyes wide in wonder.

‘What if I take the seams out a little and put a panel in …’ pleaded Liz.

‘No,’ interrupted Catrin firmly, as if scolding an unruly dog.

Ever since they’d set a date for the christening, Liz Kelly had persisted in attempting to persuade Catrin that her little granddaughter should wear this hideous heirloom – a baptism gown passed down from Great-Granny Wilson and worn at generations’ worth of family christenings. Including Catrin’s own. And her brother Tom’s.

‘You’re wearing a girl’s dress,’ she used to tease him whenever they perused the family albums and he’d answer her with a pinch.

Catrin completely understood the need to preserve tradition, she really did. But not at the expense of her baby girl’s comfort. Romy was eleven months old now. The gown was evidently made for a newborn.