‘I know this is unusual, but in my father’s absence I thought perhaps I should make a speech. Rupert,’ I look down at him, a fond smile creeping across my face, ‘Mr Milligan. My husband.’ I press my hands to my face in glee as a ripple of laughter fills the room. ‘Today is the start of the rest of our lives together, and it honestly couldn’t have been more perfect. The sun came out, you look adorable, and all of our family and friends are here to celebrate with us. It’s no secret to the people in this room that you have been through some hard times, and we haven’t known each other for as long as is perhaps expected, but I want you to know that I adore you. I am so ready for our life together. This is all I’ve ever wanted, and after kissing a few frogs, I finally met my prince. I’m so glad I applied for that job – even if I’m not quite as good at cleaning as I made myself out to be.’ Another swell of quiet laughter. ‘To us, Rupert, and our perfect life together.’ I clink my champagne glass against his and lean down to kiss him, feeling giddy with happiness. The room erupts with applause and as I sit back down, I see Sadie discreetly dab at her eyes with a napkin.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the band are here, and I think it’s about time I took my bride onto the floor for our first dance.’ Rupert stands and holds his hand out to me. ‘What do you say, Mrs Milligan?’
‘Definitely time,’ I laugh up at him and get to my feet, kicking off the tiny heeled pumps that Sadie picked out for me to wear. Following Rupert onto the dance floor as someone, somewhere, dims the lights, I loop my arms around his neck before stiffening as the first strains of music reaches my ears.
‘What?’ Rupert stops, frowning as I tug my arms away, my hands flying to my mouth as my brow creases. The song is ‘Tiny Dancer’ by Elton John.
‘This isn’t our song,’ I gasp in confusion, looking up at Rupert. His face is like thunder as he gestures to Will to get the band to cut the music. ‘Rupert, did you ask them to change our song?’ The music carries on, as Will is forced to mount the stage and physically tap the singer on the shoulder.
‘No, Emily, I wouldn’t do that. I take it you didn’t either?’
‘No, of course I didn’t.’ I press my hands against my stomach, each chord striking my skin like a thousand tiny needles. Finally, the music changes, the first notes of ‘At Last’ by Etta James fill the room and Rupert pulls me back into his arms. I try to go with it, but although my feet are moving, I am stiff, my joints like cardboard.
‘Darling, try and enjoy it. This is our first dance, everyone is watching. I’m sorry about the mistake, I don’t know what happened,’ Rupert murmurs into my ear, and to anyone watching it looks as though he’s whispering sweet nothings.
‘Relax?’ I whisper back, pinning a smile onto my face, even though smiling is the last thing I feel like doing. The moment has been spoiled now. ‘That was the song you had your first dance to with Caro, wasn’t it?’ I try to swallow down the tears that make it difficult to speak. ‘Amanda mentioned it when we were discussing what song we were going to have over lunch one day.’
‘Oh, Em, I really am sorry. I have no idea how this happened. You must know I would never have changed the song, not without talking to you, and certainly not to that song.’
‘No. No, of course I know that.’ I take a deep breath, trying to push away the anger that bubbles beneath the surface. ‘But if you didn’t change it, and I didn’t change it, then who did? Someone here must have done it deliberately to upset me. You. Us.’
I haven’t told him about the letter, or the text message I received in Brighton, worried as I am that it might be Harry trying to get in contact with me, but now I’m regretting it. I should have showed him – maybe then he would realize just why I’m so upset now.
‘No one would do that – they’re our friends, Em! It’s more likely the band got us mixed up with another couple. It’s the end of the wedding season, darling, there are bound to be a few hiccups. Please, let’s just forget it, and enjoy our day. Yes?’ He nuzzles into my neck as he whisks me across the floor and I can’t help but melt a little. I don’t want to argue with him, especially not on our wedding day and in front of our guests, so I just nod in agreement, forcing a smile and giving our guests a little bow at the end of the dance.
Once I see that Rupert is busy talking to some old university friends, I take a moment when the band are on a break to snag the singer and ask him about the song change.
‘You asked me to change it,’ he says, slightly belligerently.
‘No, I didn’t.’ I inject a note of steel into my voice, one hundred per cent certain that I never requested for the song to be changed.
‘You did,’ the singer argues, ‘you left me a note on top of the speaker. Here.’ He fumbles in his pocket, bringing out a crumpled piece of paper that looks as though it has been torn from a notepad, the kind I remember my grandmother using
