‘So I’ve been reading about this thing called imposter syndrome. And I think I have it…only the opposite. Because I hate The Know. I shouldn’t be here. But nowhere else will hire me. I just want Harri to like me, and I keep letting her down. And Tabitha is so mean!’

‘Really mean. But she’s awful to everyone, it’s definitely not just you.’

‘I didn’t tell you this. A couple of days ago, I pitched this idea to Harri. I wanted to do a recipe section. You know my blog?’

I do know about Louise’s blog. It’s called Truly Scrumptious, and it mostly features pictures of Lou holding pale pistachio macarons next to her pink, smiling face. She has recipes for Victorious Sponge, ‘to celebrate life’s little wins’ and Marry A Millionaire shortbread. Sometimes there are photos of her friends trying her recipes. They all dress as though they’re on their way to a wedding on the outskirts of Oxford.

The thing is that while Lou’s blog is very much not for me, I’m sure it’s for someone. She’s executing a much-loved aesthetic, and she does it well. If there are nine million branches of Oliver Bonas between Westminster and Marble Arch, there must be a billion people who want to make Victorious Sponge. It’s certainly well produced. You can tell that she puts the hours in.

‘I love your blog!’ I beam, ignoring the rising wave of nausea brought about by an easy lie.

‘Well, Harri doesn’t. She said “Food isn’t really our thing,” and I tried to tell her that I love it. I live for it! She sighed and told me to go back and read Our Bible, and that The Girl, you know, our target audience, is spending all of her money on vintage vinyl and zodiac readings, and she won’t be,’ here, Louise leans forward on her elbows to make air quotes and knocks her hot chocolate all over the table. ‘“Fucking about with a savarin mould.”’ This triggers a fresh batch of tears. ‘I just—look, Imm, I know what Harri means, but—am I not The Girl too? Aren’t you? We can’t pour our whole lives and all of our energy into making something for…for…for…I don’t know, TABITHA?’

I reach for Lou’s hands, and then drop the left in order to grab a napkin and mop up the hot chocolate with my right.