The candles keep blowing out and we form a huddle around it to keep them alight and sing ‘Happy Birthday’. When we start clapping, the breeze blows the candles out again. Gigi says that Dave’s always telling her to save her breath and now she has. She divides the cake and we toast her. The photographer’s circling the table, getting candid shots, waiting for the moment, THE moment. David reaches under the table and we hear the sound of ripping Velcro and the bag unzipping.

Gigi looks at David with a lovely smile.

Gigi’s present is gift-wrapped neatly and topped with a pink bow.

He makes room on the table and puts it down in front of her. ‘Happy birthday, Gigi,’ he says softly.

Gigi frowns and tears a hole in the wrapping, like a child. In the sunlight, the oiled wood gleams through the ripped paper. She bites her lip and sits back in her chair.

‘Carry on,’ David says. ‘There’s more to see.’

He’s looking at her eagerly – waiting, I suppose, for her eyes to light up.

The camera shutter is the only sound I can hear. We’ve all fallen silent. He’s seriously miscalled it and he’s the only one who hasn’t realised it yet.

She doesn’t bother to unwrap the paper completely. She rests her chin on her fist and looks up at him. ‘What is it?’ Her voice is dull, disinterested.

David’s still smiling. ‘Open it properly! It’s a chopping board,’ he says. ‘It’s got your name on it.’

She sits back in her chair again. ‘Yeah, thanks, Dave. When I take it to meet all the other chopping boards, I’ll know which one is mine.’ She scratches her shoulder and looks across the table at us, frowning as if she’s forgotten we’re there.

‘It’s maple,’ he says. It seems to dawn on him that the gift has gone flat and it’s painful to watch.

If the engagement ring exists, I think, now is the time to bring it out. For his sake, I shut my eyes, praying for one.

‘Beautiful patina,’ Ben says encouragingly after a moment.

David glances at him, his face impassive and dignified.

How could she do this? I’m embarrassed for him.

But Gigi looks humiliated, too. She pushes the gift away from her and knocks her champagne glass over. The prosecco spills onto the board and pools in the wrapping paper.

Max jumps to his feet and dabs it with his paper napkin. I’m still watching Gigi and hoping for just one word to make it right again, for Gigi to look at it properly and throw her arms around him in delight.

But she doesn’t.

David puts the wet chopping board in its dripping wrapping paper and puts it back in the sports bag.

No one says anything. It’s hard to know what to say.