Louise would literally rather die than cause a scene. This isn’t hyperbole. It would be an honourable way to go. I’ve not known her for long, but I know her well enough to realise she is thinking of ‘suddenly remembering’ a recent conversion to veganism. Eventually she says, brightly, ‘Well, I’m sure everyone will enjoy the puffs, anyway. A healthy alternative!’ She reaches over and pops one in her mouth. Her eyeballs seem to bulge slightly. The colour drains from her face. The muscles in her throat are convulsing. Taking Tabitha’s abandoned glass of champagne, she drains it and, with great effort, swallows. ‘Absolutely delicious!’ she trills. ‘My compliments to the chef!’

I catch Akila’s eye, and she shakes her head at me, mumbling, I think, ‘Don’t make me laugh’ through a mouthful of mini burger. The angry women return to the bar, and Louise coughs into a paper napkin. Unexpectedly, I’m hit by a wave of utter love for them both.

This is the coup de foudre—well, it’s not love at first sight, exactly, but it feels like a thunderbolt. The start of a real romance. I’ve never really experienced this with anyone I’ve been dating. It’s always been a case of getting to know someone and watching them become a little less irritating, and then a lot more irritating. Right now, I’m entirely dazzled by these women. I want to hug them hard, which is normal—but I want to smell their hair as well. That’s probably a little too much.

Luckily Louise is way ahead of me. ‘I just want to say,’ she announces, and there’s a tremor in her voice, ‘I’ve never had this much fun…I mean, I know it’s early days, we’re all getting to know each other, but, I’m really, really happy right now. I’m proud of us.’

‘OK, OK, bring it in!’ Akila gathers us both into her arms, and everything is as it should be. I don’t even have to sniff anyone—hugging Louise is like walking into a tank filled with Miss Dior. ‘I’m proud of us too,’ she says, releasing us. ‘There’s a really good vibe here, Harri chose well!’ I feel a warm body closing in behind me, as Kim joins the pile, resting his chin on the top of my head. ‘You gnnuhhhs,’ he says, chewing, then stumbling, choking and doubling over. Minesweeping an unattended glass of champagne, he chugs, swallows, and pats his throat theatrically. ‘The fuck was that?’

Spotting a jug on the table, I pour him a glass of water. ‘I think they’re called vegan puff parcels.’

‘Akila, you said my name?’ says Harri, returning to the table. ‘Oh, God, are we hugging? It’s too early!’