For the second time, Akila looks as though she’s carefully editing herself before she speaks. ‘I’m used to Management pushing and pushing, but sometimes it feels as though they really want to hold us back and stop us from growing. But that would be crazy—maybe Mackenzie is taking time to find her feet? Still, early days. I can handle them. It took me a long time to discover that people take you more seriously when you care less.’ She points her chin in the direction of Louise, who looks more like she’s preparing to give evidence in court than trying to track down sausage rolls. ‘Maybe it’s a case of giving other people room to make their minds up about you. I work so hard to look like I’m hardly working. When I was much more eager to please, and desperate to show that I had everything under control, I think it was as if I was taking myself so seriously that people could only treat me like a joke. Does that make sense?’

I nod. I think about the early, breathless days doing work experience, especially at Panache, when I was so desperate, insecure and keen to be seen that I squeaked when I walked. And that the more time I spent there, as the gleam dulled and I got better at getting my head down—well, that was when Harri started to notice me. Now, even though work is going well, I’m feeling chronically insecure again. I don’t know why. If I could come across as being half as confident and capable as Akila, at anything, I’d…maybe relax is too strong a word, but I might be able to go back to sleep when my pounding heart wakes me up at 4 a.m.

‘How do you do it? What would you tell your twenty-seven-year-old self?’ How can I be you?

She laughs. ‘Dunno, you tell me! I think it’s a bit of perspective, a bit of practice. And you’re a grafter. You’re talented.’ I mumble a vowelless thanks, while staring at a long, slim patch of spilled champagne. It curves to the right at the bottom and looks a bit like a map of Chile. I trace it with my little finger. ‘Imogen. NO! We’ve talked about this. You look me in the eye and say “thank you”. Accept your compliments with grace and sincerity.’

Akila blows an arc of air across the table. I suspect she’s enjoying an imaginary, invisible cigarette, that maybe once upon a time every tipsy profundity revealed itself through a rolling Marlboro mist. She adds, ‘When I was twenty-seven, I think I just wanted to know that things would eventually work out. I think this is the toughest bit because it feels as though you’ve been trapped in this awful decade for ever, and it feels much harder before it gets easier.’