Four Weddings And A Table Nine

Table nine sits by the kitchen doors. On it: one recently divorced uncle, one plus-one whose partner cancelled, one man who asked within ninety seconds whether she had heard of a particular coin, and her. The couples were by the window. The couples are always by the window.

Two hen dos, one abroad. Four outfits, because three of the groups overlap on Instagram. Travel, accommodation, gifts from a registry where the cheapest remaining item was a serving platter costing sixty pounds. Total: a fortnight in Greece she did not get to take.

She did not volunteer. She was standing near the bar, holding a drink, minding a life she is largely content with, when a hand landed on each elbow. She caught it. Everyone cheered. She has never felt more alone in a room of two hundred people.