He was right. As ever. Because, like he said, this was their day. Their special and private day. Better to keep it simple and quiet. And secret.

He was always thinking of her, never of himself. Even today, he’d attached a couple of sprigs of lily of the valley to her wheelchair handles. And as he’d helped her into the car, he’d looked at her and said, ‘Remember now, today is our day, yeah? There’ll be no mention of you-know-who, OK?’

And she’d smiled coyly. She loved it when he took charge. He’d protect her from Judith, make no mistake.

Along the corridor in the Zeta-Jones Hall (renamed after the 1990s success of The Darling Buds of May, when Swansea’s most famous daughter shot to fame), an Indo-Welsh marriage was being solemnized between a couple from Pontydrueni. That room, by contrast, was drowning in colour. Packed with over one hundred and twenty guests (thirty more than fire regulations permitted), all jostling for space amongst the balloons and flowers and streamers and saris, that wedding could not have been more different. Muted strains of the sitar and tabla drifted down from the Zeta-Jones Hall to the Richard Burton Suite, where the only sound was the heavy tick of the wall clock and the sombre tones of Alison the registrar’s voice.

She looked up at Adrian now, staring straight ahead, listening intently, with that serious little furrow on his brow that she’d come to know and love so well.

He turned to her and winked, mouthing ‘You all right?’, and she nodded and smiled. She couldn’t have been more all right.

Alison the registrar turned to him and said, ‘Do you, Adrian Alan Oliver, take Patricia Mary Harris to be your lawful wedded wife? Will you love her, honour her, cherish and protect her and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto her as long as you both shall live?’

Adrian took a deep breath and glanced momentarily at Steven, his best man. Steven smiled back encouragingly, nodding his approval.

Bless him, thought Patricia. He’s filling up! Her Adie, always the level-headed one – Adrian the Calm, she called him! – never fazed by anyone or anything, who’d face down any challenge: her Adrian, her beloved Adrian, was now overcome with emotion. She wasn’t used to seeing him so vulnerable, so shy – the little boy in him showing his frightened face.

He cleared his throat and she could see him physically pull himself together before answering a little too loudly, ‘I do.’

Without looking up, Steven put his hand on Adrian’s shoulder and squeezed, whispering, ‘Well done, love.’

And then Alison stopped speaking. Her attention was taken by some activity in the doorway, which Patricia couldn’t see – she had limited mobility in the wheelchair and was unable to turn around very fast.

Alison’s jaw dropped as she stared at the sight before her.

‘Good God, are you …?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said a breathless woman. ‘I’m sorry, but this wedding has to stop … You have to stop it immediately.’