The wedding was in April, in a small stone church on the coast, and we invited seventy people. My sister came, and so did her husband, and so did Bethany Cole, who had found a new job at a legal aid clinic and had sent me a card that said, "Congratulations. I'm glad it worked out."
Eleanor did not come.
David had asked her. He had asked her three times, in fact, in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and each time she had said that she would think about it, and each time she had not. In the end she sent a gift, a silver serving tray engraved with the Ashford crest, and a note that said, "Best wishes."
I put the tray in a cupboard and did not look at it again.
The ceremony was short. The church was old and cold and smelled of stone and candles, and the light came through the windows in
