"I told you, no theme parks."

"Disneyland is good."

"You're going to say there are rides specially for handicapped people next, aren't you?"

"I know you said that, but it's not just roller coasters and whirling teacups. At Florida you've got the film studios and the science centre. It's actually quite educational."

"He is not dying." I put the phone down on the travel agent just as Will came in. I fumbled with the receiver, trying to set it back in its cradle, and snapped my notepad shut.

"I don't think a 35-year-old former company head needs educating."

"They accommodate everyone. Why don't you try Florida, Miss Clark? If you don't like it you could go on to SeaWorld. And the weather is lovely."

"In Will versus killer whale I think I know who would come off worst."

He didn't seem to hear me. "And they are one of the top-rated companies for dealing with disability. You know they do a lot of Make-A-Wish Foundation stuff for people who are dying?"

"There are disabled loos on every corner. And the members of staff are incredibly caring. Nothing is too much trouble."

Afterwards, I was never entirely sure why Will changed his mind about Alicia and Rupert's nuptials. I suspected there was probably a large dose of natural contrariness in his decision -- nobody expected him to go, probably least of all Alicia and Rupert themselves. Perhaps it was about finally getting closure. But I think in the last couple of months she had lost the power to wound him.

He was waiting expectantly. My brain was still stalled on killer whale versus travel agent.

He waited just a few seconds before he said it, as if it actually gave him some pleasure to surprise me.

"Fine." I smiled brightly.

"What?"

We decided we could manage without Nathan's help. I called up to make sure the marquee was suitable for Will's wheelchair, and Alicia sounded so flustered when she realized we weren't actually declining the invitation that it dawned on me her embossed correspondence really had been for appearance's sake.

"We're going to a wedding."

"What are you doing on Saturday?"

"Good. Got a nice frock?"

"Everything all right, Clark?"

"Um… nothing. Patrick's away all day training. Why?"

"That will be lovely, then. Thank you," I said. "We'll see you on the day."

"Um… well… there is a very small step up into the marquee, but I suppose the people who are putting it up did say they could provide a ramp…" She tailed off.

We went online and picked out a wedding present. Will spent £120 on a silver picture frame, and a vase that he said was "absolutely vile" for another £60. I was shocked that he would spend that much money on someone he didn't even really like, but I had worked out within weeks of being employed by the Traynors that they had different ideas about money. They wrote four-figure cheques without giving it a thought. I had seen Will's bank statement once, when it had been left on the kitchen table for him to look at. It contained enough money to buy our house twice over -- and that was only his current account.

I decided to wear my red dress -- partly because I knew Will liked it (and I figured today he was going to need all the minor boosts he could get) -- but also because I didn't actually have any other dresses which I felt brave enough to wear at such a gathering. Will had no idea of the fear I felt at the thought of going to a society wedding, let alone as "the help". Every time I thought of the braying voices, the assessing glances in our direction, I wanted to spend the day watching Patrick run in circles instead. Perhaps it was shallow of me to even care, but I couldn't help it. The thought of those guests looking down on both of us was already tying my stomach in knots.

"If I'm not worried about it, Clark, I don't think you should be," he said.

I didn't say anything to Will, but I was afraid for him. Going to the wedding of an ex seemed a masochistic act at the best of times, but to go to a public gathering, one that would be full of his old friends and work colleagues, to watch her marry his former friend, seemed to me a sure-fire route to depression. I tried to suggest as much the day before we left, but he brushed it off.

I rang Treena and told her.

"Maybe he just wants to remind himself that there are worse things than dying?"

"Check his wheelchair for anthrax and ammunition," was all she said.

"It's the first time I've got him a proper distance from home and it's going to be a bloody disaster."

"Funny."

Her mind was only half on our phone call. She was preparing for a week's residential course for "potential future business leaders', and needed Mum and me to look after Thomas. It was going to be fantastic, she said. Some of the top names in industry would be there. Her tutor had put her forward and she was the only person on the whole course who didn't have to pay her own fees. I could tell that, as she spoke to me, she was also doing something on a computer. I could hear her fingers on the keyboard.

"Yes, well, I've learnt from the best."

"Nice for you," I said.

"Great."

"Okay. Have fun. Oh, and don't wear that red dress. It shows way too much cleavage."

"It's in some college at Oxford. Not even the ex-poly. The actual 'dreaming spires' Oxford."

"That's remarkably bitter of you, Clark," Will said, when I told him.

Nathan had come early to get Will ready so that we could leave the house by nine. It was a two-hour drive, and I had built in rest stops, planning our route carefully to ensure we had the best facilities available. I got ready in the bathroom, pulling stockings over my newly shaved legs, painting on make-up and then rubbing it off again in case the posh guests thought I looked like a call girl. I dared not put a scarf around my neck, but I had brought a wrap, which I could use as a shawl if I felt overexposed.

"Will? No more than usual."

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and balmy, as I had secretly known it would. Girls like Alicia always got their own way. Someone had probably put in a good word with the weather gods.

She paused for a moment. "He's not suicidal, is he?"

"Well, that's something." I heard the ping of an email.

"I'd better go, Treen."

"Not bad, eh?" Nathan stepped back, and there was Will, in a dark suit and a cornflower-blue shirt with a tie. He was clean-shaven, and carried a faint tan on his face. The shirt made his eyes look peculiarly vivid. They seemed, suddenly, to carry a glint of the sun.

"Not bad," I said -- because, weirdly, I didn't want to say how handsome he actually looked. "She'll certainly be sorry she's marrying that braying bucket of lard, anyway."

"Yup. All set and ready to go." He turned to Will. "No snogging the bridesmaids, now."

Will raised his eyes heavenwards. "Nathan, do we have everything in the bag?"

"As if he'd want to," I said. "They'll all be wearing pie-crust collars and smell of horse."

Will's parents came out to see him off. I suspected they had just had an argument, as Mrs Traynor could not have stood further away from her husband unless they had actually been in separate counties. She kept her arms folded firmly, even as I reversed the car for Will to get in. She didn't once look at me.

"Don't get him too drunk, Louisa," she said, brushing imaginary lint from Will's shoulder.

I climbed back into the car with relief. With Will's chair secured in the back, and his smart jacket hung neatly over the passenger's seat so that it wouldn't crease, we set off.

"Even your own," Mrs Traynor murmured, adding more audibly, "You look very smart, darling." She knelt down, adjusting the hem of Will's trousers. "Really, very smart."

"You're quite right, Will," his father said. "I always needed a good stiff drink or two to get through a wedding."

"Why?" Will said. "I'm not driving."

I could have told you what Alicia's parents' house would be like even before I got there. In fact, my imagination got it so nearly spot on that Will asked me why I was laughing as I slowed the car. A large, Georgian rectory, its tall windows partly obscured by showers of pale wisteria, its drive a caramel pea shingle, it was the perfect house for a colonel. I could already picture her growing up within it, her hair in two neat blonde plaits as she sat astride her first fat pony on the lawn.

"So do you." Mr Traynor eyed me approvingly as I stepped out of the driver's seat. "Very eye-catching. Give us a twirl, then, Louisa."

Will turned his chair away. "She doesn't have time, Dad. Let's get on the road, Clark. I'm guessing it's bad form to wheel yourself in behind the bride."

"Well, we have a wheelchair, and it will sink into the grass here," I said. "We need to be right beside the church. Look, I'll go just there."

Two men in reflective tabards were directing traffic into a field between the house and the church beside it. I wound down the window. "Is there a car park beside the church?"

They looked at each other, and murmured something between themselves. Before they could say anything else, I drove up and parked in the secluded spot beside the church. And here it starts, I told myself, catching Will's eye in the mirror as I turned off the ignition.

"Chill out, Clark. It's all going to be fine," he said.

"Guests are this way, Madam."

"I'm perfectly relaxed. Why would you think I wasn't?"

"You're ridiculously transparent. Plus you've chewed off four of your fingernails while you've been driving."

I parked, climbed out, adjusted my wrap around myself, and clicked the controls that would lower the ramp. "Okay," I said, as Will's wheels met the ground. Across the road from us in the field, people were climbing out of huge, Germanic cars, women in fuchsia dresses muttering to their husbands as their heels sank into the grass. They were all leggy and streamlined in pale muted colours. I fiddled with my hair, wondering if I had put on too much lipstick. I suspected I looked like one of those plastic tomatoes you squeeze ketchup out of.

As Will turned and began making his way towards the church, I thought I heard him murmur, "Spoilsport."

"So… how are we playing today?"

"One exception," I said, adjusting the wrap around my shoulders for the fourteenth time.

"What?"

"We're going to be incredibly well behaved, Clark."

"Look, we'll just do whatever it takes to make it fun," he said.

Will followed my line of vision. "Honestly?"

Will's eyes met mine. Blue, unfathomable. A small cloud of butterflies landed in my stomach.

The butterflies' wings began to beat wildly, as if trapped against my ribcage. I began to speak, but he interrupted me.

Fun. Like going to an ex's wedding could ever be less painful than root canal surgery. But it was Will's choice. Will's day. I took a breath, trying to pull myself together.

"Yup. I need to know. And please don't say Shock and Awe. Are you planning something terrible?"

We sat through the ceremony without incident. Alicia looked as ridiculously beautiful as I had known she would, her skin polished a pale caramel, the bias-cut off-white silk skimming her slim figure as if it wouldn't dare rest there without permission. I stared at her as she floated down the aisle, wondering how it would feel to be tall and long-legged and look like something most of us only saw in airbrushed posters. I wondered if a team of professionals had done her hair and make-up. I wondered if she was wearing control pants. Of course not. She would be wearing pale wisps of something lacy -- underwear for women who didn't need anything actually supported, and which cost more than my weekly salary.

"You're not to do the Christy Brown. If you do the Christy Brown I will drive home and leave you stuck here with the pointy-heads."

The men were less interesting to look at, but nearly all had that air about them that I could sometimes detect in Will -- of wealth and entitlement, a sense that life would settle itself agreeably around you. I wondered about the companies they ran, the worlds they inhabited. I wondered if they noticed people like me, who nannied their children, or served them in restaurants. Or pole danced for their business colleagues, I thought, remembering my interviews at the Job Centre.

While the vicar droned on, and the little ballet-shod bridesmaids shuffled in their pews, I gazed around me at the other guests. There was barely a woman there who didn't look like she might appear in the pages of a glossy magazine. Their shoes, which matched their outfits to the exact hue, looked as if they had never been worn before. The younger women stood elegantly in four- or five-inch heels, with perfectly manicured toenails. The older women, in kitten heels, wore structured suits, boxed shoulders with silk linings in contrasting colours, and hats that looked as if they defied gravity.

And then it was over. Will was already making his way out towards the exit of the church. I watched the back of his head, upright and curiously dignified, and wanted to ask him if it had been a mistake to come. I wanted to ask him if he still had feelings for her. I wanted to tell him that he was too good for that silly caramel woman, no matter what appearances might suggest, and that… I didn't know what else I wanted to say.

The weddings I went to usually had to separate the bride and groom's families for fear of someone breaching the terms of their parole.

Will and I had positioned ourselves at the rear of the church, Will's chair just to the right of my end of the pew. He looked up briefly as Alicia walked down the aisle, but apart from that he faced straight ahead, his expression unreadable. Forty-eight choristers (I counted) sang something in Latin. Rupert sweated into his penguin suit and raised an eyebrow as if he felt pleased and a bit daft at the same time. Nobody clapped or cheered as they were pronounced man and wife. Rupert looked a bit awkward, dived in towards his bride like somebody apple bobbing and slightly missed her mouth. I wondered if the upper classes felt it was a bit "off" to really get stuck in at the altar.

He blinked a couple of times. "Fine," he said. He let out a little breath, as if he had been holding it. Then he looked up at me. "Come on, let's go and get a drink."

"You okay?" I said, as I caught up.

The bottom line was, it should have been him.

I just wanted to make it better.

"Pimm's?" the barman said, when I got to the front. "Um…" I looked around, seeing that this was actually the only drink on offer. "Oh. Okay. Two, please."

The marquee was situated in a walled garden, the wrought-iron gateway into it intertwined with garlands of pale-pink flowers. The bar, positioned at the far end, was already crowded, so I suggested that Will waited outside while I went and got him a drink. I weaved my way through tables clad in white linen cloths and laden with more cutlery and glassware than I had ever seen. The chairs had gilt backs, like the ones you see at fashion shows, and white lanterns hung above each centrepiece of freesias and lilies. The air was thick with the scent of flowers, to the point where I found it almost stifling.

When I found Will, there was a man talking to him. Young, bespectacled, he was half crouching, one arm resting on the arm of Will's chair. The sun was now high in the sky, and I had to squint to see them properly. I could suddenly see the point of all those wide-brimmed hats.

He smiled at me. "The other drinks come out later, apparently. But Miss Dewar wanted everyone to start with Pimm's." The look he gave me was slightly conspiratorial. It told me with the faintest lift of an eyebrow what he thought of that.

I stared at the pink lemonade drink. My dad said it was always the richest people who were the tightest, but I was amazed that they wouldn't even start the wedding with alcohol. "I guess that'll have to do, then," I said, and took the glasses from him.

"So bloody good to see you out again, Will," he was saying. "The office isn't the same without you. I shouldn't say as much… but it's not the same. It just isn't."

He looked like a young accountant -- the kind of man who is only really comfortable in a suit.

He glanced up as he noticed me standing there. "Oh," he said, and I felt his eyes settle on my chest. "Hello."

"It was just so odd. Like you fell off a cliff. One day you were there, directing everything, the next we were just supposed to…"

"It's nice of you to say so."

He adjusted his sightline. "Oh," he said again. "And --"

"Louisa Clark, meet Freddie Derwent."

I put Will's glass in his holder and shook the younger man's hand.

"Life not all bad, then," Freddie Derwent said, with a laugh that was a bit like a cough. He flushed a little as he spoke. "Anyway… must mingle. You know these things -- apparently, we're meant to see them as a networking opportunity. But good to see you, Will. Really. And… and you, Miss Clark."

"He seemed nice," I said, as we moved away. I lifted my hand from Will's shoulder and took a long sip of my Pimm's. It was actually tastier than it looked. I had been slightly alarmed by the presence of cucumber.

"I'm a friend of Will's," I said, and then, not entirely sure why, let my hand rest lightly on Will's shoulder.

"Not too awkward, then."

"Yes. Yes, he's a nice kid."

"No." Will's eyes flickered up to meet mine. "No, Clark, not too awkward at all."

One -- a big, bluff man with a cigar -- seemed not to know what to say when he was actually there in front of Will, and settled for, "Bloody nice wedding, wasn't it? Thought the bride looked splendid." I guessed he hadn't known Alicia's romantic history.

As if freed by the sight of Freddie Derwent doing so, over the next hour several more people approached Will to say hello. Some stood a little way back from him, as if this absolved them of the handshake dilemma, while others hoisted the knees of their trousers and crouched down almost at his feet. I stood by Will and said little. I watched him stiffen slightly at the approach of two of them.

Another, who seemed to be some business rival of Will's, hit a more diplomatic note, but there was something in his very direct gaze, his straightforward questions about Will's condition, that I could see made Will tense. They were like two dogs circling each other, deciding whether to bare their teeth.

"New CEO of my old company," Will said, as the man finally departed with a wave. "I think he was just making sure that I wouldn't be trying to stage a takeover."

Alicia, floating around the garden -- an ethereal vision, air-kissing and exclaiming -- didn't approach us.

The sun grew fierce, the garden became a fragrant pit, people sheltered under dappled trees. I took Will into the doorway of the marquee, worried about his temperature. Inside the marquee huge fans had been kicked into life, whirring lazily over our heads. In the distance, under the shelter of a summer house, a string quartet played music. It was like a scene from a film.

I watched Will drain two glasses of Pimm's and was secretly glad.

Lunch was served at 4pm. I thought that was a pretty odd time to serve lunch but, as Will pointed out, it was a wedding. Time seemed to have stretched and become meaningless, anyway, its passage blurred by endless drinks and meandering conversations. I don't know if it was the heat, or the atmosphere, but by the time we arrived at our table I felt almost drunk. When I found myself babbling incoherently to the elderly man on my left, I realized it was actually a possibility.

"About the same as a glass of wine. In each one."

I stared at him in horror. Both of him. "You're kidding. It had fruit in it! I thought that meant it was alcohol free. How am I going to drive you home?"

"Some carer you are," he said. He raised an eyebrow. "What's it worth for me not to tell my mother?"

"Is there any alcohol in that Pimm's stuff?" I said to Will, after I had managed to tip the contents of the salt cellar into my lap.

The more anxious I grew about how I was going to sober up, the more upbeat and carefree Will became. The elderly woman on his right turned out to be a former MP who had campaigned on the rights of the disabled, and she was one of the few people I had seen talk to Will without the slightest discomfort. At one point I watched her feed him a slice of roulade. When she briefly got up to leave the table, he muttered that she had once climbed Kilimanjaro. "I love old birds like that," he said. "I could just picture her with a mule and a pack of sandwiches. Tough as old boots."

I was stunned by Will's reaction to the whole day. I had thought I was going to get Taciturn Will, Sarcastic Will. At the very least, Silent Will. But he had been charming to everybody. Even the arrival of soup at lunch didn't faze him. He just asked politely whether anybody would like to swap his soup for their bread, and the two girls on the far side of the table -- who professed themselves "wheat intolerant" -- nearly threw their rolls at him.

I was less fortunate with the man on my left. He took about four minutes -- the briefest of quizzes about who I was, where I lived, who I knew there -- to work out that there was nothing I had to say that might be of interest to him. He turned back to the woman on his left, leaving me to plough silently through what remained of my lunch. At one point, when I started to feel properly awkward, I felt Will's arm slide off the chair beside me, and his hand landed on my arm. I glanced up and he winked at me. I took his hand and squeezed it, grateful that he could see it. And then he moved his chair back six inches, and brought me into the conversation with Mary Rawlinson.

"I try," I said, glancing at him.

"And have you always worked in this field?"

"No. I used to… work in a cafe." I'm not sure I would have told anybody else at this wedding that fact, but Mary Rawlinson nodded approvingly.

"So Will tells me you're in charge of him," she said. She had piercing blue eyes, and wrinkles that told of a life impervious to skincare routines.

I blinked.

"Well, Louisa, I imagine your job at the moment takes up an awful lot of mental energy. And I don't suppose this young man is the easiest of clients."

Will looked as if he were about to say something, and then closed his mouth. He stared at the table and shook his head a little, but he was smiling.

"I rather think that you of all people should know that," she added.

Will moved his arm back on to his chair. "I'm trying to encourage Louisa to do something else, to widen her horizons a bit."

"I always thought that might be rather an interesting job. If you like people, and are rather nosy, which I am." She beamed.

Mary Rawlinson gave him a sharp look. "Don't patronize her, dear. She's quite capable of answering for herself."

"She doesn't know," Will said. "Louisa is one of the smartest people I know, but I can't make her see her own possibilities."

"You can say that again."

"But Will is quite right about seeing possibilities. Here's my card. I'm on the board of a charitable organization that encourages retraining. Perhaps you would like to consider something different in the future?"

"What did you have in mind?" she asked me.

She eyed him for a moment, and glanced over at me.

"… it's very good that you've got over the hump, so to speak. I know it can be crushing to have to readjust your life so dramatically around new expectations."

"I'm very happy working with Will, thank you."

I wondered if my face betrayed me.

I stared at the remains of my poached salmon. I had never heard anyone speak to Will like that.

He frowned at the table, and then turned back to her. "I'm not sure I am over the hump," he said, quietly.

"Everything takes time, Will," she said, placing her hand briefly on his arm. "And that's something that your generation find it a lot harder to adjust to. You have all grown up expecting things to go your way almost instantaneously. You all expect to live the lives you chose. Especially a successful young man like yourself. But it takes time."

I took the card that she proffered regardless, a little stunned that this woman would have the slightest interest in what I did with my life. But even as I took it, I felt like an imposter. There was no way I would be able to give up work, even if I knew what I wanted to learn. I wasn't convinced I was the kind of person who would suit retraining. And besides, keeping Will alive was my priority. I was so lost in my thoughts that I briefly stopped listening to the two of them beside me.

"Mrs Rawlinson -- Mary -- I'm not expecting to recover," he said.

"I'm not talking about physically," she said. "I'm talking about learning to embrace a new life."

And then, just as I waited to hear what Will was going to say next, there was a loud tapping of a spoon on a glass, and the room hushed for the speeches.

I barely heard what they said. It seemed to me to be one puffed-up penguin-suited man after another, referring to people and places I didn't know, provoking polite laughter. I sat and chewed my way through the dark-chocolate truffles that had arrived in silver baskets on the table, and drank three cups of coffee in quick succession so that as well as feeling drunk I felt jittery and wired. Will, on the other hand, was a picture of stillness. He sat and watched the guests applaud his ex-girlfriend, and listened to Rupert drone on about what a perfectly wonderful woman she was. Nobody acknowledged him. I don't know if that was because they wanted to spare his feelings, or because his presence there was actually a bit of an embarrassment. Occasionally Mary Rawlinson leant in and muttered something into his ear and he nodded slightly, as if in agreement.

"What?"

When the speeches finally ended, an army of staff appeared and began clearing the centre of the room for dancing. Will leant in to me. "Mary reminded me there is a very good hotel up the road. Ring them and see if we can stay there."

"So?" he said, when I reappeared.

Mary handed me a name and a telephone number scribbled on a napkin.

I took it, reached for my mobile phone and walked off into the further reaches of the garden. They had two rooms available, they said -- a single, and a double on the ground floor. Yes, it was suitable for disabled access. "Perfect," I said, and then had to swallow a small yelp when they told me the price. I gave them Will's credit card number, feeling slightly sick as I read the numbers.

"It's okay, Clark," he said, quietly, so that she couldn't hear. "I'll pay. Go on, and then you can stop worrying about how much you've drunk. Grab my credit card from my bag. They'll probably want to take the number."

"I've done it, but…" I told him how much the two rooms had come to.

Something happened that evening. The lights dropped, so that our little table was less conspicuous, the overpowering fragrance of the flowers was tempered by the evening breezes, and the music and the wine and the dancing meant that in the most unlikely of places, we all began to actually enjoy ourselves. Will was the most relaxed I had seen him. Sandwiched between me and Mary, he talked and smiled at her, and there was something about the sight of him being briefly happy that repelled those people who might otherwise have looked at him askance, or offered pitying glances. He made me lose my wrap and sit up straight. I took off his jacket and loosened his tie, and we both tried not to giggle at the sight of the dancing. I cannot tell you how much better I felt once I saw the way posh people danced. The men looked as if they had been electrocuted, the women did little pointy fingers at the stars and looked horribly self-conscious even as they twirled.

And so I did.

"That's fine," he said. "Now ring that bloke of yours to tell him you're staying out all night, then have another drink. In fact, have six. It would please me no end to see you get hammered on Alicia's father's bill."

"God, no."

"Jolly sensible of you. I've seen better dancing at a bloody Young Farmers Club disco."

Mary Rawlinson muttered, "Dear God," several times. She glanced over at me. Her language had got fruitier with every drink. "You don't want to go and strut your stuff, Louisa?"

At nine, I got a text from Nathan.

All okay?

Yes. Lovely, believe it or not. Will having great time.

And he was. I watched him laughing hard at something Mary had said, and something in me grew strange and tight. This had shown me it could work. He could be happy, if surrounded by the right people, if allowed to be Will, instead of The Man in the Wheelchair, the list of symptoms, the object of pity.

And then, at 10pm, the slow dances began. We watched Rupert wheel Alicia around the dance floor, applauded politely by onlookers. Her hair had begun to droop, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as if she needed the support. Rupert's arms linked around her, resting on the small of her back. Beautiful and wealthy as she was, I felt a little sorry for her. I thought she probably wouldn't realize what she had lost until it was much too late.

"Thank you for coming, Will. Really." She glanced sideways at me but said nothing.

Alicia nodded a greeting to Mary, and dipped a little from her waist so that Will could hear her over the music. Her face was a little tense, as if she had had to prime herself to come over.

"Pleasure," Will said, smoothly. "You look lovely, Alicia. It was a great day."

"I do."

A flicker of surprise passed across her face. And then a faint wistfulness. "Really? You really think so? I do think… I mean, there's so much I want to say --"

Halfway through the song, other couples joined them so that they were partially obscured from view, and I got distracted by Mary talking about carers' allowances, until suddenly I looked up and there she was, standing right in front of us, the supermodel in her white silk dress. My heart lodged in my throat.

There was a brief silence.

"Really," Will said. "There's no need. You remember Louisa?"

I could see Rupert hovering in the background, eyeing us all warily. She glanced back at him, and then held out a hand in a half-wave. "Well, thank you anyway, Will. You are a superstar for coming. And thank you for the…"

"I know."

"Come on. While the music is slow. Because I don't think you can pogo in that thing."

"You didn't buy her a mirror."

"Come on. Let's give these fuckers something to talk about."

"Mirror."

And then, as the dance floor briefly emptied for the next dance, I found myself saying, "What do you say, Will? Going to give me a whirl?"

I didn't give him any choice. I sat down carefully on Will's lap, draped my arms around his neck to hold myself in place. He looked into my eyes for a minute, as if working out whether he could refuse me. Then, astonishingly, Will wheeled us out on to the dance floor, and began moving in small circles under the sparkling lights of the mirrorballs.

They were still talking, Rupert's gaze flickering back to us. It was as if he couldn't believe Will had simply been nice. Mind you, neither could I.

"Of course. I absolutely loved the mirror." She stood up and walked back to her husband, who turned away, already clasping her arm.

"What?"

"Oh good," Mary said, raising a glass. "Fucking marvellous."

We watched them cross the dance floor.

"Does it… did it bother you?" I said to him.

He looked away from them. "No," he said, and he smiled at me. His smile had gone a bit lopsided with drink and his eyes were sad and contemplative at the same time.

I felt simultaneously acutely self-conscious and mildly hysterical. I was sitting at an angle that meant my dress had risen halfway up my thighs.

"Leave it," Will murmured into my ear.

"This is…"

"Are they all appalled yet?" he said. I opened one eye, and glanced out into the dim light.

I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around his neck, letting my cheek rest against his, breathing in the citrus smell of his aftershave. I could feel him humming along with the music.

"Come on, Clark. Don't let me down now."

A couple of people were smiling encouragingly, but most seemed not to know what to make of it. Mary saluted me with her drink. And then I saw Alicia staring at us, her face briefly falling. When she saw me looking, she turned away and muttered something to Rupert. He shook his head, as if we were doing something disgraceful.

I felt a mischievous smile creeping across my face. "Oh yes," I said.

"So do you. Although, if you keep turning in left-hand circles I may throw up."

"Hah. Move in closer. You smell fantastic."

I looked back at him steadily. "You would never have looked at my breasts if you hadn't been in a wheelchair."

Will changed direction. My arms looped around his neck, I pulled back a little to look at him, no longer self-conscious. He glanced down at my chest. To be fair, with me positioned where I was, there wasn't anywhere else he could really look. He lifted his gaze from my cleavage and raised an eyebrow. "You know, you would never have let those breasts so close to me if I weren't in a wheelchair," he murmured.

"What? Of course I would."

"Nope. You would have been far too busy looking at the tall blonde girls with the endless legs and the big hair, the ones who can smell an expense account at forty paces. And anyway, I wouldn't have been here. I would have been serving the drinks over there. One of the invisibles."

He blinked.

"Well? I'm right, aren't I?"

Will glanced over at the bar, then back at me. "Yes. But in my defence, Clark, I was an arse."

I burst out laughing so hard that even more people looked over in our direction.

The seconds before he answered me seemed to take forever.

He waited. "Arses?"

"Do you know something?"

"Sometimes, Clark, you are pretty much the only thing that makes me want to get up in the morning."

"Okay," he said.

"What?"

"Let's go somewhere. Let's have a week where we just have fun. You and me. None of these…"

"Please."

"… arses. Say yes, Will. Go on."

I don't know what I was telling him. I don't know where it all came from. I just knew if I didn't get him to say yes tonight, with the stars and the freesias and the laughter and Mary, then I had no chance at all.

"Then let's go somewhere." The words were out almost before I knew what I wanted to say.

His eyes didn't leave mine.

I could have looked at his face all night. The way his eyes wrinkled at the corners. That place where his neck met his shoulder. "What?"

I tried to straighten my face. "Sorry," I mumbled. "I think I'm getting hysterical."