The Book of Love. Fionnuala Kearney

carries on walking. Christ, something’s telling me I should have just stayed away. I swear quietly. All I want to do is hug my daughter, hug my sister, and let them feel my arms around them.

      I ask myself what Erin would say to me right now.

      ‘Get over yourself and get your ass in there. It’s a party! Go party! And maybe see what you make of Paul?’

      Or something like that.

      So, without her on my arm, that’s what I try to do.

      It takes very little time for me to conclude that he’s a boring asshole not worthy of Rachel. If Erin were here, she’d have an elbow firmly wedged in my ribs, primed for an urgent poke. If Erin were here, she’d have hissed. ‘This is her choice, not yours.’

      But Erin is not here, so after another hour, I slip away unnoticed and take the shorter route home.