I’ve always been a teeny bit awkward around Tarquin. But now I see him with Suze – married to Suze – the awkwardness seems to melt away.

‘I know you’ll be really happy,’ I say warmly, and give him a kiss on the cheek, and we both laugh as someone throws confetti at us. Guests are already piling out of the church like sweets out of a jar, talking and laughing and calling to each other in loud con­fident voices. They swarm around Suze and Tarquin, kissing and hugging and shaking hands, and I move away a little, wondering where Luke is.

The whole churchyard is filling up with people, and I can’t help staring at some of Suze’s relations. Her granny is coming out of the church very slowly and regally, holding a stick, and is being followed by a dutiful-looking young man in morning dress. A thin, pale girl with huge eyes is wearing an enormous black hat, holding a pug and chain-smoking. There’s a whole army of almost identical brothers in kilts standing by the church gate, and I remember Suze telling me about her aunt who had six boys before finally getting twin girls.

‘Here. Put this on.’ Luke’s voice is suddenly in my ear, and I turn round, to see him holding out the sheepskin jacket. ‘You must be freezing.’

‘Don’t worry. I’m fine!’

‘Becky, there’s snow on the ground,’ says Luke firmly, and drapes the coat round my shoulders. ‘Very good wedding,’ he adds.

‘Yes.’ I look up at him carefully, wondering if by any chance we can work the conversation back to what we were talking about before the service. But Luke’s gazing at Suze and Tarquin, who are now being photographed under the oak tree. Suze looks absolutely radiant, but Tarquin might as well be facing gunfire.

‘He’s a very nice chap,’ he says, nodding towards Tarquin. ‘Bit odd, but nice.’

‘Yes. He is. Luke–’

‘Would you like a glass of hot whisky?’ interrupts a waiter, coming up with a tray. ‘Or champagne?’

‘Hot whisky,’ I say gratefully. ‘Thanks.’ I take a few sips and close my eyes as the warmth spreads through my body. If only it could get down to my feet, which, to be honest, are completely freezing.

‘Bridesmaid!’ cries Suze suddenly. ‘Where’s Bex? We need you for a photograph!’

My eyes open.

‘Here!’ I shout, slipping the sheepskin coat off my shoulders. ‘Luke, hold my drink–’

I hurry through the melee and join Suze and Tarquin. And it’s funny, but now all these people are looking at me, I don’t feel cold any more. I smile my most radiant smile, and hold my flowers nicely, and link arms with Suze when the photographer tells me to, and, in be­tween shots, wave at Mum and Dad, who have pushed their way to the front of the crowd.

‘We’ll head back to the house soon,’ says Mrs Gearing, coming up to kiss Suze. ‘People are getting chilly. You can finish the pictures there.’

‘OK,’ says Suze. ‘But let’s just take some of me and Bex together.’

‘Good idea!’ says Tarquin at once, and heads off in obvious relief to talk to his father, who looks exactly like him but forty years older. The photographer takes a few shots of me and Suze beaming at each other, then pauses to reload his camera. Suze accepts a glass of whisky from a waiter and I reach surreptitiously be­hind me to see how much of my dress has unravelled.

‘Bex, listen,’ comes a voice in my ear. I look round, and Suze is gazing at me earnestly. She’s so close I can see each individual speck of glitter in her eyeshadow. ‘I need to ask you something. You don’t really want to wait ten years before you get married, do you?’

‘Well... no,’ I admit. ‘Not really.’

‘And you do think Luke’s the one? Just... honestly. Between ourselves.’

There’s a long pause. Behind me I can hear someone saying, ‘Of course, our house is fairly modern. Eighteen fifty-three, I think it was built–’

‘Yes,’ I say eventually, feeling a deep pink rising through my cheeks. ‘Yes. I think he is.’

Suze looks at me searchingly for a few moments longer – then abruptly seems to come to a decision. ‘Right!’ she says, putting down her whisky. ‘I’m going to throw my bouquet.’

‘What?’ I stare at her in bewilderment. ‘Suze, don’t be stupid. You can’t throw your bouquet yet!’

‘Yes I can! I can throw it when I like.’

‘But you’re supposed to throw it when you leave for your honeymoon!’

‘I don’t care,’ says Suze obstinately. ‘I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to throw it now.’

‘But you’re supposed to do it at the end!’

‘Who’s the bride? You or me? If I wait till the end it won’t be any fun! Now, stand over there.’ She points with an imperious hand to a small mound of snowy grass. ‘And put your flowers down. You’ll never catch it if you’re holding things! Tarkie?’ She raises her voice. ‘I’m going to throw my bouquet now, OK?’

‘OK!’ Tarquin calls back cheerfully. ‘Good idea.’

‘Go on, Bex!’

‘Honestly! I don’t even want to catch it!’ I say, slightly grumpily.

But I suppose I am the only bridesmaid – so I put my flowers down on the grass, and go and stand on the mound as instructed.

‘I want a picture of this,’ Suze is saying to the photographer. ‘And where’s Luke?’

The slightly weird thing is, no-one else is coming with me. Everyone else has melted away. Suddenly I notice that Tarquin and his best man are going around murmuring in people’s ears, and gradually all the guests are turning to me with bright, expectant faces.

‘Ready, Bex?’ calls Suze.

‘Wait!’ I cry. ‘You haven’t got enough people! There should be lots of us, all standing together...’

I feel so stupid, up here on my own. Honestly, Suze is doing this all wrong. Hasn’t she been to any weddings?

‘Wait, Suze!’ I cry again, but it’s too late.

‘Catch, Bex!’ she yells. ‘Caaatch!’

The bouquet comes looping high through the air, and I have to jump slightly to catch it. It’s bigger and heavier than I expected, and for a moment I just stare dazedly at it, half secretly delighted, and half com­pletely furious with Suze.

And then my eyes focus. And I see the little envelope. To Becky.

An envelope addressed to me in Suze’s bouquet?

I look up bewilderedly at Suze, and with a shining face she nods towards the envelope.

With trembling fingers, I open the card. There's something lumpy inside. It’s... It’s a ring, all wrapped up in cotton wool. There’s a message, in Luke’s handwriting. And it says...

It says Will You...

I stare at it in disbelief, trying to keep control of myself, but the world is shimmering, and blood is pounding through my head.

I look up dazedly, and there’s Luke, coming forward through the people, his face serious but his eyes warm.

‘Becky–’ he begins, and there’s a tiny intake of breath around the churchyard. ‘Will you–’

‘Yes! Yeeeesssss!’ I hear the joyful sound ripping through the air before I even realize I’ve opened my mouth. God, I’m so charged up with emotion, my voice doesn’t even sound like mine. In fact, it sounds more like...

Mum.

I don’t believe it.

As I whip round, she claps a hand over her mouth in horror. ‘Sorry!’ she whispers, and a ripple of laughter runs round the crowd.

‘Mrs Bloomwood, I’d be honoured,’ says Luke, his eyes crinkling into a smile. ‘But I believe you’re already taken.’

Then he looks at me again.

‘Becky, if I had to wait five years, then I would. Or eight – or even ten.’ He pauses, and there’s complete silence except for a tiny gust of wind, blowing confetti about the churchyard. ‘But I hope that one day – preferably rather sooner than that – you’ll do me the honour of marrying me?’

My throat’s so tight, I can’t speak. I give a tiny nod, and Luke takes my hand. He unfolds my fingers and takes out the ring. My heart is hammering. Luke wants to marry me. He must have been planning this all along. Without saying a thing.

I look at the ring, and feel my eyes start to blur. It’s an antique diamond ring, set in gold, with tiny curved claws. I’ve never seen another quite like it. It’s perfect.

‘May I?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper, and watch as he slides it onto my finger. He looks at me again, his eyes more tender than I’ve ever seen them, and kisses me, and the cheering starts.

I don’t believe it. I’m engaged.