Then came the speeches, and Kingston took the microphone with a drink in his hand and confidence coming off him like heat.

He opened with the usual things — fate, second chances, perfect timing — and the room laughed on cue.

I remember thinking, in the first minute of it, that I could survive this: the clichés, the toasts, the performance of a happiness assembled on the ruins of my family.

I had come this far.

I had sat through the ceremony and the dinner and the careful avoidance of the back table.

I could sit through a groom’s speech.