Of course, they were getting married in Ibiza. E-bee-tha, I hated that they pronounced it like Spanish people. Sorry you aren’t allowed to say it like that if you were born north of Andorra.

I did not want to go. If there’s one thing I hate more than posh people is drunk posh people. Fine, let’s look at the positives. There will be food, presumably good since we’ll be in Spain, and free booze. Alright, that’s decent.

At least, Jess will come pick me up at the airport. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all. I’m getting a bit nervous now, not going to lie. I've lost track of how many rotations the conveyor belt has made by now. A decreasing number of bags on it and of people around me give me a queasy feeling. Please not today.

After a couple more rotations, the belt stops. A man starts putting the few unclaimed bags onto a cart.

“Excuse me, my bag isn’t here.”

“Sorry love, you’ll have to take that one to the desk.” The man doesn’t even glance at me, while pointing behind him.

Brilliant.

Well that’s confirmed then. My bag is lost. I see Jess waiting outside the sliding doors, she lifts her arms up when she sees me.

“What took you so long?! I swear everyone in your flight came out ages ago.”

I give her a quick hug. “My bag. It’s lost.” She widens her eyes, then starts laughing.

“Thanks.” I say, drily. “The universe telling me again it’s bad idea to attend your ex’s wedding.”

“More like the universe giving me some comedic relief.” says Jess, still laughing. We’re just getting in the rented car.

“The wedding is in a couple hours. Plenty of time to buy you a whole new outfit. Do you have any preference?” Jess is finding the situation extremely amusing while all I want to do I go home and eat ice cream.

“Just not naked would be great.”

We’re driving past a road of white low rise buildings with big windows and Jess pulls over next to one showcasing flowing white dresses, you guessed it, Ibiza style.

“Jess, are you meant not to wear white as a wedding guest?”

“No, unless you get married in Ibiza and your guests lose their bags. I’m not driving around this island hoping to find a pink frock.” Jess gets off the car and I follow her into the store, progressively caring less about the outcome of the day.

In the time it takes me to gather courage to move a dress on the rack, as if I’m turning the page of a book - activity that I’d much rather be doing right now - Jess has already picked three outfits for me.

“Try these on” she pushes the clothes on my face. “I’ll find you some shoes, those espadrilles would look incredible. You’ll need a bag too, maybe some earrings…”

I stopped hearing her from the comfort of the fitting room. My tired face looks back at me from the mirror. Why god, I see what you’ve done for other people and I want that for me. I’ve got the feeling he’s laughing at me from up there like Jess.

I decide on the first item I try on, a white linen jumpsuit.

“I’ll get this.” Jess gave me two thumbs up like the goofball she is. “Cut the label, I’m not taking it out.”

“Yeah babe! Let’s do this.”

And this is how I found myself dressed in blinding white, wearing way too high espadrilles and sticking out like a sore thumb in my ex’s absurd Ibiza wedding.