Anna felt sick, her stomach was clenched so tightly it ached. People were filing into the room like a flock of brightly coloured birds, chattering away, their beady eyes glancing quickly about. Anna shrank back into the chair, trying to blend into the surroundings. She'd worn the plainest dress she could reasonably wear without drawing attention to herself. It was grey, not a soft dove grey, but grey like a common pigeon. She shifted nervously in her seat and tugged at the hem pulling it down further over her knees.

Anna had been counting down the days, crossing them off on her calendar since she'd got the invitation. Alan's wedding, her beloved step-brother. She hadn't seen him in over a year, not since their father's funeral. Anna could barely bring herself to look at Alan that day. She'd felt the sadness rolling off of him like thunder as they stood together in the rain, so she’d slipped away after the burial to avoid it. Every day since she'd thought about him. She longed to go back and take his hand and sink down into the grief with him, but she could no more have brought herself to do that than to have held her hand in flames.

Anna straightened the knife and fork in front of her for the tenth time. Alan and Wendy entered the room, beaming at the collected guests as they made their way to the top table. They looked so happy, almost other-worldly. As they say down Alan's eyes wondered over the crowd and finally rested on Anna. He smiled and looked to go to say something, but then turned back to Wendy. Anna's heart beat so fast in her chest, she felt for a moment like a fish on a hook gasping for air. She reached up and laid a hand over the necklace she wore. It was a row of small shiny periwinkles, strung together a piece of silver string she'd found in the Christmas decorations box.

Anna had found the shells whilst out walking with her father many years ago. It was her favourite memory. He'd drilled tiny holes in them so she could make them into beads. She'd worn them all day. When Alan had come home that evening, long after their father had gone to bed, Anna had sat up with him while he made toast to ward off a hangover. Anna had told him of the long walk on the beach and had proudly showed him the necklace she'd made. Alan had leant over and ran his fingers gently over the delicate shells about her throat. His face was so close to hers she could have just closed her eyes at that moment, but instead she’d turned and fled upstairs.

Now she sat at the wedding, the rest of the crowd cooing at the bride and groom. Her hand dropped from the necklace and she clasped her arms around herself.