‘Are you with anyone, Dexter?’ said Sylvie, her voice low.

He glanced at Emma, still pretending to be captivated by the ultrasound scan. He thought for a moment, then turned his back to her and lied. ‘Actually there’s a whole gang of us in here. We’re going to give it another fifteen minutes, then we’re going to dig a tunnel, and if that doesn’t work we’re going to eat someone.’

‘Thank God, here’s Callum. I’m going to talk to Callum. Hurry up, will you?’

‘Okay. I’m on my way. Bye, darling, bye!’ He hung up. ‘Did I sound drunk then?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘We’ve got to get out of here right now.’

‘Fine by me.’ She looked in both directions, hopeless. ‘We should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.’ As if in answer, there was a hum, a click, and each of the lights that illuminated the maze clicked off one by one, plunging them into darkness.

‘That’s handy,’ said Dexter. They stood still for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. The band were playing ‘It’s Raining Men’, and they listened hard to the muffled sound as if it held a clue to their whereabouts.

‘We should get back,’ said Emma. ‘Before it starts raining men.’

‘Good idea.’

‘There’s a trick, isn’t there?’ said Emma. ‘As I remember it, you put your left hand on the wall, and as long as you don’t let go, you get out eventually.’

‘Then let’s do it!’ He poured the last two glasses from the champagne bottle and placed the empty bottle on the grass. Emma removed her heels, placed her fingertips on the hedge and, a little gingerly at first, they began to walk along the dim corridor of leaves.

‘So you’ll come? To my wedding.’

‘Of course I will. I can’t promise not to disrupt the service, mind.’

‘It should have been me!’ They both smiled in the darkness and walked a little further.

‘As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you a favour.’

‘Please, please, don’t ask me to be the Best Man, Dex.’

‘It’s not that, it’s just I’ve been trying to write a speech for ages now, and I was wondering if you might give me a hand?’

‘No!’ laughed Emma.

‘Why not?’

‘I just think it’ll carry less emotional weight if it’s written by me. Just write what you honestly feel.’

‘Well I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. “I’d like to thank the caterers, and by the way I’m scared shitless.”’ He squinted into the darkness. ‘Are you sure this is working? It feels like we’re going further in.’

‘Trust me.’

‘Anyway, I don’t want you to write the whole thing, just give it a polish. .’

‘Sorry, you’re on your own there.’ They came to a halt at a three-way junction.

‘We’ve definitely been here before.’

‘Just trust me. We keep going.’

They walked on in silence. Nearby the band had segued into Prince’s ‘1999’, to cheers from the guests. ‘When I first heard this song,’ said Emma, ‘I thought it was science-fiction. 1999. Hover cars and food in pill form and holidays on the moon. Now it’s here and I’m still driving a Fiat bloody Panda. Nothing’s changed.’

‘’Cept I’m a family man now.’

‘A family man. Good God, aren’t you scared?’

‘Sometimes. But then you look at some of the idiots who manage to raise kids. I keep telling myself, if Miffy Buchanan can do it, how hard can it be?’

‘You can’t take babies to cocktail bars, you know. They get funny about that kind of thing.’

‘S’okay. I’m going to learn to love staying in.’

‘But you’re happy?’

‘Yeah? I think I am. Are you?’

‘Happier. Happyish.’

‘Happyish. Well, happyish isn’t so bad.’

‘It’s the most we can hope for.’ The fingertips of her left hand passed across the surface of a statute that seemed familiar, and now Emma knew exactly where they were. Turning right, and then left would bring them out into the rose garden again, back into the party, back to his fianc'ee and their friends, and there would be no more time to talk. She suddenly felt a startling sadness, so stopped for a moment, turned and took both of Dexter’s hands in her own.

‘Can I say something? Before we go back to the party?’

‘Go on.’

‘I’m a little drunk.’

‘Me too. That’s okay.’

‘Just. . I missed you, you know.’

‘I missed you too.’

‘But so, somuch, Dexter. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about, and you weren’t there—’

‘Same here.’

‘And I feel a little guilty, sort of running away like that.’

‘Did you? I didn’t blame you. There were times when I was being a little. . obnoxious.’