The first thing I do when I wake up the following morning is cringe at my main memory from last night. Why did I do that? I'm such an idiot.

And, no, I'm not ready to talk about it yet. Let me just spiral dramatically for a wee while; metaphorically beat myself up, until I'm emotionally black and blue. And when I'm finally on the precipice of a nervous breakdown, maybe then I'll be ready to reveal all.

In the meantime, I have to get myself ready for Delilah's First Communion.

Delilah is my other little sister, and she's much younger than myself and Lou. My mum had me when she was only 20, and Lou followed four years later. My parents hadn't actually planned to have another kid, so when mum got pregnant again at 42, it was a bit of a shock for all of us.

But, to be honest, it turned out to be the best surprise ever, because my baby sister is an absolute doll. We all absolutely worship the ground she walks on. And the adorable little brat knows it.

I try to be as quiet as possible as I leave my room. My high-heeled shoes dangle from one hand as I creep along the hallway, hoping desperately not to disturb Ric. I briefly consider crawling, but my floral sundress wrinkles easily. Plus crawling would slow me down. I can make a far more efficient escape using just my legs.

A floorboard creaks beneath my feet and I freeze for the briefest of moments, ears pricked for any noise coming from behind his bedroom door. I hear nothing though, so I make a break for the exit, my heart pumping loudly in my chest as I make it outside.

I'm being overdramatic, right? What happened last night wasn't that bad, surely? My face heats up again as the memory revisits me, and I cringe.

No. It was that bad.

Lou is waiting for me outside in Tam's van. Tam is not. He played the aetheist card to get himself out of coming to a religious ceremony. Which is slightly unfair because I know it wouldn't have worked if I had tried to do the same thing. But I guess blood is thicker than water and all that. Plus I don't think my folks like Tam very much.

"You look a bit . . . freaked out." That's the first thing Lou says to me when I haul myself up into the passenger seat. "You okay?"

I nod. Try to force myself not to dwell on last night once again. "Yeah. Just had to get ready in a hurry; I slept in." A blatant lie. I've been up for hours. Spent about two hours doing my make-up as a result. My perfect eyeliner flicks took approximately twenty attempts, but I had given myself the gift of time thanks to my overworked brain.

"Hmmm." I can tell she doesn't believe me. It's fine. I'll tell her later. Once I can get the words out. She starts telling me about the argument she and Tam had after she got home last night, and I half-listen while I pick anxiously at the edges of my pink-painted nails.

Despite allowing loads of time and setting off early for the trip to the suburbs, we get stuck in roadworks, of course, so make it to the chapel just before the mass starts. I barely get a chance to say hi to my parents and granny before everything kicks off.

It always feels a bit weird being in a church now. Growing up, we went as a family every Sunday, but I pretty much stopped going as soon as I moved out. Nowadays, I feel guilty if I have to be in one for any reason. As if God might strike me down for being a terrible Catholic.

My mum once asked me which church I went to in Glasgow, and I genuinely didn't know the names of any. I just invented a whole new Catholic church from scratch, rather than admit that I didn't go to mass anymore. I might be 29, but I still didn't want my parents to be disappointed in me.

Delilah is cuteness personified in her little white Communion dress, and she runs up to give me and Lou massive hugs afterwards. I feel a twinge of guilt - I really should make the effort to get out to see her more. "Are you coming to my party?" She asks us eagerly.

"Of course," I assure her. I was always more interested in the after-party than the religious theatrics beforehand. (Again, sorry God!)

The party is being held in my parents' garden, the same house I grew up in. I haven't lived there for seven years, but not much has changed. The gadgets and technology have got fancier of course, but the furniture is largely the same, and the same swingset Lou and I used for years now amuses Delilah for hours.

She's sitting on it now, holding court like the little princess she is while she entertains our relatives. She may have immediately changed from her fancy white dress into shorts and a t-shirt, but her attitude is still pure royalty. It probably helps that she's still wearing her little white floral tiara.

"Where's Declan?" My dad asks, joining me as I watch Delilah. He presses a glass of something fizzy into my hand. I hope it's prosecco and not Appletise.

I hadn't told my parents we were on a break. I had been so convinced we would be getting back together that I didn't really see the point in worrying them unnecessarily. And I knew they would worry. Growing up, all my school report cards would detail how "sensitive" I was (translation: I cried at everything. I still do.) Sometimes I'm convinced they think I'm permanently one step away from falling apart. Sometimes I'm pretty sure they might be right.

"Oh, we split up." I wave my hand around vaguely and try to sound nonchalant. But even saying the words out loud causes my voice to quiver. It's been less than 48 hours, in my defence. I'm allowed to still be upset. Even if none of you think that Declan is worth that much!

"Good," he grumps. "I never liked that bloke." I snort. Those are definitely words I need to hear right now, but I also know he doesn't really mean it. Declan only met my parents a couple of times, but him and dad got on like a house on fire. My dad turns to look at me closely. His dark green eyes, so like my own, are full of concern. "Are you okay?" He asks gently.

I swallow hard, feeling my eyes starting to well with tears again. "I will be," I say. Eventually. I remember that text he sent me last night, telling me he'd stop contacting me. Snuffing out any feeling of hope from all of his previous texts in four simple sentences. Crushing my heart.

These last 48 hours have not been good to me in terms of my luck with men. Which reminds me again of my monumental mistake last night. As my dad pulls me into a hug, I try to shake that memory once more. I have a wee cry on his shoulder and then drain my glass - which thankfully does contain alcohol rather than apple juice. I'm actually already feeling a teensy bit better.

I find Lou in the kitchen, pouring herself some prosecco. "Hey, you're the designated driver," I protest, allowing her to top up my glass.

"We'll get the train back into town and I'll leave the van here," she says airily, knocking back half her drink in one go. "Tam can come and pick it up tomorrow - he deserves to suffer," she adds darkly. I'm assuming this is in relation to whatever their argument last night was about - I've already forgotten the cause of the fight. But I'm glad I didn't have to listen to it, that's for sure.

"C'mon, let's go and sit out the front, get a bit of peace." Her glass in one hand, the bottle in the other, Lou leads me out the front door and we settle ourselves into two of the patio loungers in the front garden. The hedge separating the house from the street is massive, so there's still plenty of privacy.

I take another sip of my prosecco, and involuntarily let out a loud sigh.

Lou eyes me narrowly. "Right, what's going on?" She asks. "You're definitely acting weirder than usual today." She smirks. "And that's saying something."

"Haha," I say dryly. Am I ready to tell yet? The very thought of saying the words out loud cause me to wince. But then maybe if I actually voice them it will make me feel better. Maybe I'll feel less humiliated somehow?

"Did something happen after our night out?" She pushes, clearly sensing gossip. I give in and nod. "And?"

"Oh god, Lou, I'm so bloody embarrassed," I gasp out in a rush of words, screwing my eyes shut as I speak. "I just - I kept remembering what you said about the best way to get over a man, and then Declan texted to say he'd stop texting me, and I just felt so rejected, and Ric was sort of being nice to me for a change, and . . ."

I open one eye to glance at her and she's watching me, eyebrows raised in question. "And?" She asks again.

I put my hands over my face. "I tried to seduce him, Lou."

And it was fucking mortifying.

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