It was about then that the buzzer buzzed again and Bridge staggered up in a flurry of bags and apologies. “I’m really, really sorry,” she told us, unloading a bottle of £12.99 wine, another bar of Dairy Milk—there was a sort of unspoken code that comfort chocolate wasn’t allowed to have any distracting flavours in it—a bunch of wilted supermarket flowers, and a box of Tesco Rocket Lollies. “Also, I panic shopped. And I would have been here sooner but I was in such a hurry to get here that I jumped on a train without checking which branch it was going down and didn’t realise until I hit Bayswater.” She tore open the box of rocket lollies, fished one out, and thrust it in my face. “These are great. Try one.”

Knowing better than to spurn a rocket lolly offered in the spirit of friendship, I obediently peeled open the slightly sticky plastic wrap and began nibbling. The tip was strawberry flavoured, or rather it was that generic red flavour that coded as strawberry by default. There was something so childish about it—brightly coloured, mildly flavoured frozen water served from a slightly soggy box—that it was, in fact, weirdly comforting. It was very hard to have a serious crisis of relationship confidence while you were sucking on a rocket lolly.

“Now tell me everything,” Bridge cried. “What happened? What about the wedding?”

Since I still had a face full of rocket lolly, Priya answered for me. “Nothing’s happened. Oliver’s just gone a bit weird on account of his dad dying, and Luc’s freaking out because he can’t cope with emotions.”

Bridge’s eyes were wide. “Oliver’s gone weird? What kind of weird? And what about the wedding?”

“The kind of weird,” Priya explained, “you go when your dad drops dead of a heart attack a few months after he found out you were marrying a guy you knew he didn’t like, and also he was a cock but now he’s dead and you’re not allowed to think he’s a cock anymore.”

Bridge’s eyes showed no signs of de-widening. “Does this mean the wedding’s off?”

“Bridge”—I finally managed to extricate myself from the lolly—“we haven’t discussed it.” Technically we’d been discussing it, and that was part of the problem, but we were having an argument seemed such a petty thing compared to a bereavement. “The wedding’s not a priority right now. Probably it’ll be fine, but if Oliver decides he can’t go through with it, I’ll support him.”