They separated in the April. Not because of the audit, which is still going and which may come to nothing.
Because of the four days.
She has said that to me once, in a car park in the June, and it is the only full conversation we have had since the October.
And the ninety people who stayed, who I did not think about at all until the February.
About half that room left. Not immediately — over the next forty minutes, in the way people leave, with coats and apologies to nobody in particular.
And ninety of them stayed and sat through the speeches, and the first dance happened at about ten past nine to a quartet that had already packed up once.
Among them were four of my sister's friends from school, both of her bridesmaids, an aunt of Casper's who had flown in, and a woman called Edith who is eighty-four and who was my grandmother's neighbour and who had come on a coach.
