One of my best mates exited the earth halfway through the narrative, married to another best mate Mike. It seems cruel and unfair that they weren’t afforded the rest of their story, one that should’ve been completed with the comfort and boredom of old age, of them settling in around the fire at night to do puzzles and eat cake while talking about the good old days.

‘To my future wife, Zaza!’ Liam beams, stepping aside and giving me the floor. He leads them into a cheer – my brother Rich making more of a barking sound as he whoops in his own enthusiastic way, encouraging my cousins to do the same.

Liam holds the microphone out to me and, to his surprise, I wave it away.

Ordinarily I’d make a speech. I’ve never been one to fall into the role of ‘submissive woman’ and allow others to speak on my behalf. I’ve never been one to hesitate when grabbing for attention and having my voice heard.

But not now.

Now life seems so fragile. So short. So uncertain.

Who knows what might accidentally slip out if I were to take that mic to my lips.

Not now.

2

Vicky

‘And they didn’t wake up at all?’ I ask again, following Rosie as she makes to leave. As usual our eighteen-year-old babysitter can’t get out of the house quick enough. She must’ve heard us wandering up the street because she was already wearing her coat and pulling her Ugg boots on when we stumbled through the door.

‘Erm …’ she thinks, pausing while glancing up the stairs. ‘Didn’t hear them,’ she shrugs.

‘Right,’ I mumble, handing her four ten-pound notes while not entirely sure whether to feel comforted by her vague reply or completely freaked out. Either my children have slept soundly not even realizing we’ve gone out, or they’ve woken up and she’s been oblivious while binge-watching her favourite trashy TV shows. I’m praying it’s the former as she’s ridiculously reliable and never cancels on us – ‘good’ sitters are hard to find.

‘See you then,’ she grins, stuffing the cash into the back pocket of her jeans and flying out the door.

I twist the key in the lock and pull the chain across, before kicking off my heels and feeling my feet instantly ache and swell as I walk across the wooden floors. I groan, feeling more than my age as I make my way to my husband Nick who has gone off on the hunt for food, our usual way to round off a night out. I find him, jacket and tie off, sitting at the kitchen counter.

‘Pizza?’ he asks with a smug grin, swivelling the cardboard box in my direction to reveal the Pepperoni Special Rosie has barely touched but was very specific about us ordering.

‘She didn’t eat it?’ I ask, sitting next to him.