‘“If you make an effort?”,’ I repeat. ‘Why do you have to get on with her at all? That’s a big ask, in the circumstances.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Bethan curls her lip and forces a laugh. ‘As if it’s just a matter of putting my mind to it. The worst thing is, his new wife really is nice. She’s got one of those faces that – uch.’ She shudders.

I hazard a guess. ‘Too much make-up?’

‘Ha! Worse than that! She doesn’t wear any at all. She looks really innocent and pure, like a cherub or a seraph, but not the ones that just have a head and two wings, I mean the normal-looking ones. And her hair is all – natural. She wears organic cotton.’

I’ve never heard anyone put so much contempt into the word natural before. ‘She sounds awful.’

Bethan opens her tote and finds a tissue. ‘Yeah. She’s not though, that’s the problem. She’s much nicer than I am. How can I fight that?’ She blows her nose violently and tucks the tissue into her jeans. ‘Sorry. Anyway. Bottom line, I need an outfit that makes me look nice, even if I don’t feel it. If I look good and I don’t drink any alcohol at all, I think I can get through it.’

It’s a tough brief. Nice. I’ve never met anyone who wants to look nice before – I’m not even sure what it looks like. ‘Just to clarify – nice like Kate Middleton?’

Bethan shudders. ‘No, she’s too mumsy. I don’t want to look as if I’m just the mother of his child. I want him to look at me and feel at least a pang of regret for Tuscany. But I don’t want to look too sexy, either, because that’s going to make me look desperate.’ Her gaze skims disinterestedly over the clothes hanging up behind me.

I know in a flash of insight exactly what she means and exactly how she needs to look to give her the confidence to get through the day. ‘Don’t go for nice,’ I tell her. ‘You can’t out-nice the nice new wife. You want to look a bit edgy, kind of dangerous,’ I tell her. ‘Believe me, the last thing you want to do is look nice.’

‘Dangerous.’ Bethan smiles, and for a moment her cloud of sadness lifts. ‘As if I’m capable of anything. Well I am,’ she adds. ‘I’m Welsh.’

‘Exactly! You want to look so amazing that no one can take their eyes off you. Because they’re scared of taking their eyes off you.’

Bethan nods. ‘And I want people to wonder why the hell he left me.’

‘You need a what-the-hell dress.’ And I know the very one, the black one with red silk chiffon sleeves. I unhook the dress for her to look at it.