i lift the camera.
he walks in.
and the bride, who spent the whole night telling everyone she "isnt into this", reaches for him before anyone tells her to.
confession. i shot a hen do once, as the photographer. two hundred quid, four hours, games and cocktails in a rented house in leeds.
the maid of honour pulls me aside at nine.
"whatever happens in the next hour," she says, "you keep shooting."
the games get louder. truth or dare, then something with blindfolds and a banana i still think about.
then the doorbell.
the bride gets blindfolded again. the girls go quiet in a way that sounds like a held breath.