Louise is looking pleased, relieved, a little embarrassed. She touches my arm. ‘Happy birthday, Immo! Do you like it? Is it all right?’ I’m so touched that my eyes start to prickle, and now I’m embarrassed too. It’s easy to be cynical, to pretend not to care, and to make fun of the people who do. Louise didn’t have to do any of this. I don’t think she organised everything to show off. It’s a genuine act of kindness.

Reaching over, I give her hand a squeeze. ‘Thank you so much. This is already one of the nicest birthdays I’ve ever had.’ Not that it has much competition. Last year, Jen and I ate an entire Colin the Caterpillar cake in bed. Sam Strong promised he’d take me out to Rules for dinner, but he cancelled just after I emerged from the shower, bleeding, having taken a razor to my pubes because I was too overdrawn for a forty pound Hollywood wax. The year before, a stiff white card came in the post. I assumed it was from Mum, but it was a rejection note from the Wessex-Solent Media Regional Graduate Scheme. I’ve still not spoken to Mum after the awful weekend, accidentally on purpose missing her calls. And Jen has not spoken to me. I’ve sent three apology texts, and they have all gone unanswered. Every time I think of our fight, the shame makes me wince. I can understand why she doesn’t want to speak to me. But then, shouldn’t she be ashamed too? It’s too painful. I push the memory away again.

Harri is squinting at the bottle in the ice bucket, looking slightly worried. I squint too. Veuve. Blimey. ‘Erm, Louise, I’m sure Hudson can cover a couple of bottles but we might not be able to run to the rest…’ Louise flushes, and looks straight at the flowers in the window box. ‘No, no, honestly don’t worry, I’ve done quite a lot of work for these people with my…blog. It’s, ah, all thrown in.’ Kim squeezes her arm. ‘You absolute baller, Lou. That’s so cool!’

Akila nods. ‘That’s brilliant. It’s so generous of you to share this with us!’

‘We should drink a toast!’ says Louise, the hoppity-skip returning to her voice. ‘Firstly, to Immo, because it’s her birthday, and we love her—and not just because she’s the filthiest woman on the internet!’ My name is called, glasses are chinked, expensive champagne is spilled. ‘But I really want to drink a toast to The Know! To our readers, to our amazing team, and to amazing women!’

‘The Know!’ we bellow, being slightly more careful with our drinks this time around.

‘So, Imogen, you’re a Pisces,’ says Akila, topping herself up. ‘It’s the twenty-first today, so you’re right on the cusp!’