I hear Leanne first, ‘…and if he gets his bonus, that’s another 3k, and I’ve told him we’re going to Florida, but he keeps going on about upgrading…oh. Imogen. Hiya! Long time no see.’ She’s getting up, she’s hugging me, and I’m waiting to feel the sharpness of her acrylic nails, stabbing into my back, but the embrace is painless.

At least Jen looks really, really bored.

‘Jen, I didn’t think you were around this weekend?’ I look at her imploringly. If she had just been on the telly, I’d be hugging her, jumping up and down, squealing, buying her drinks.

‘Oh, um, the family stuff got cancelled. How have you been?’

She’d know if she ever picked her phone up.

Leanne has not stopped talking, ‘…so, work has said that if we smash our targets, we’re doing this champagne tasting up the London Eye, have you been, Imogen? Maybe we can go to some bars, after. You can introduce me to some of your celebrity friends. You’re so lucky, I’ve always wanted to work on a magazine, but you have to live in London and Steve says they’re all stuck-up wankers…you remember Steve? In fact, big news! You didn’t like my Facebook post, so I don’t know if you saw…’

Her left hand flies up to my face and I instinctively cower, assuming she’s going to make a fist. The nails narrowly miss my eyelids. ‘Cost a grand, that did. Well, nearly. Nine hundred quid.’

‘It’s…lovely! Congratulations!’

‘Do you want to be my bridesmaid? Jen is going to be one.’

‘Um, that’s so nice of you, but I think I might be away…’ Why am I being polite? Why am I not throwing my wine all over her?

‘I must go to the toilet,’ I say, getting up, ‘and so must you.’ I yank Jen’s elbow, and march her over to the Ladies.

Over the years, I have been very, very sick in these toilets. But something much worse is threatening to pour out of me—weeks of pent-up rage, fury, fear, bile and hurt.