A girl’s wedding day is not the ideal moment for her confession. If I could have I would have shouted the truth across cities and mountains and countries and seas, until the whole world had heard the beauty behind the story of how I met Patrick. But that was unthinkable. And anyway, now that I was standing on that spectacular headland about to stride out in front of the guests, it was too late.

The warm morning breeze rippled through long strands of spinifex grass, and waves crashed into the white sand below Sydney’s gently curving coastline. Ten metres away, beyond the bushes, a few dozen guests stood around the clearing listening to Mozart’s flute concerto, anticipating the arrival of the bride. My mother wrapped her arms around me while my father, brothers and bridesmaid Lizzy looked on.

“It’s so exciting!” Mum shrilled. “I began thinking you might never get married.”

“I suppose you can’t always see these things coming.” I thanked my lucky stars she hadn’t dug any deeper.