I call Ali and ask her to get rid of my mum and sister. I simply tell her that we need to talk. By the time I get to the hotel room, I’ve stopped seeing them kissing and started imagining them in the bedroom together, tearing off each other’s clothes, her flinging him onto the bed before climbing on top of him, her long red hair cascading down over his body as she leans forward and…

‘That lying, cheating bastard,’ I rant as I burst through the door.

‘Don’t worry, your three-year-old niece has left the room,’ my friend jokes awkwardly. Ali is the wild one, the one constantly caught up in drama, the one who has a weekly (if not biweekly) meltdown, over some man or other.

‘That liar! That fucking liar…’ I continue.

Ali grabs me by the shoulders and sits me down on the bed.

‘Talk to me, girl.’

‘Daniel…’ I start, but then I get that sick feeling again. It rushes up from my stomach, burns up my oesophagus and reaches my mouth, but by the time it leaves my lips the only thing that pours out of me is emotion. I scream and I cry – and it’s an ugly cry, none of that ‘single tear on the cheek’ movie bullshit. Wailing, sobbing, eyes pouring, nose running. I’m just a gross, ugly mess and the only thing stopping me from completely falling apart is my best friend, blindly rubbing my shoulder and wiping my nose. She still has no idea what’s going on.

‘Daniel is cheating on me,’ I sob. ‘He was, he maybe still is…’

‘I’m sorry, Daniel is mugging you off?’ she asks in disbelief. ‘He’s been punching since the day you met. You are an absolute babe.’

I squeeze Ali’s hand. A compliment like that, from someone as gorgeous as Ali, goes a long way. If I told you Ali was a Playboy bunny, you wouldn’t have a hard time believing me. I think she’s in her late thirties, but she doesn’t look it. I tried to look at her passport once and she didn’t speak to me for a week. From her ridiculous hair extensions to her absolutely massive fake boobs to her lip fillers, Ali has spent a lot of time and money on her look and it’s flawless. I am not quite so perfect.

I hate to be a cliché, and I really wish I could say that I hadn’t done this, but I went on a very strict diet in the run-up to my wedding. My hard work paid off though (apart from going down a cup size, to which Ali immediately said she’d give me her surgeon’s card) and I felt sure I was going to walk down the aisle as the most confident version of myself I have ever been. It hasn’t stopped my fiancé cheating on me though, has it? Now, my self-confidence is so low, it’s downstairs in the lobby.

‘Who the hell would have an affair with him?’ Ali asks, quickly adding, ‘no offence.’