But it was too late. In the mirror, I saw John walk into the ladies as I lunged for the toilet stall, restraining my boobs with my hands.

‘I didn’t see anything,’ he called. ‘I swear.’

Pulling the dress back up over my chest, I leaned against the cool metal of the stall door.

‘Camille said you weren’t here,’ I said as the top part of my dress drooped back down around my waist. Why wouldn’t it stand up on its own? Was I really going to have to spend the entire day with my arms crossed to stop myself from flashing the entire family? What was my mother thinking?

‘I wasn’t, now I am. Can you come out please?’

Reluctantly, I unlocked the door and let it open, just a little. In the crack between the door and the wall, I saw his downturned smile, his brown eyes, his dark hair.

‘Ros,’ he said. ‘Will you please come out the toilet?’

‘I can’t,’ I explained. ‘I can’t keep my dress up.’

‘I’ve heard a lot of excuses in my time,’ John replied. ‘But that’s a good one.’

‘I’m serious!’ Emerging from the stall, I turned my back to show him the strange straps of my dress. ‘The bodice won’t stay up.’

‘That’s because you haven’t fastened it.’ John waved his hands in the air between us like he was casting a spell. ‘Those straps are supposed to wrap up and around, aren’t they?’

I grasped one end with my left hand, keeping my boobs firmly inside the front of my dress with the right. ‘Are they?’

‘I hate to be the one to tell you but you’re a rubbish girl,’ he said, taking the end of each sash in his hands. ‘Turn around.’

Biting down on my lower lip, I turned my back to him and felt him reach around my waist for the long swathes of lilac fabric. He cinched them tightly around my middle before winding the fabric up around my chest then tying a neat bow behind my neck.

‘How did you know how to do that?’ I asked, marvelling at his handiwork in the mirror.

‘I’ve put more women back into more complicated clothing than I care to remember,’ he replied as I put my dress through the shimmy test. ‘You pick up a wide array of skills when you work in bars for your entire adult life. Which reminds me, who do I need to speak to about outlawing jumpsuits?’

‘Not me,’ I replied. ‘You only need wear one to a festival once and you’ll never put yourself through it again as long as you live.’