‘Don’t you dare forget that this year we’re going all out for it.’ I clench my fist in determination.

‘You too.’

Something is niggling at me. ‘I wonder why Chelsea’s back so unexpectedly? She never said she was staying on after the party in her emails, did she?’

Lauren shrugs.

‘You don’t think there’s anything wrong?’

My sister harrumphs. ‘In Chelsea’s life? No.’

She’s probably right. Though I make a mental note to phone my big sister early next week.

Lauren and I hug again and I rush off for my train before I miss it. The carriage is quiet at this time on a Sunday and I flop down into a window seat, ready to be jogged back to my home in Milton Keynes.

I suppose I should ring Greg, let him know that I’m on my way back, but I don’t. He’ll be head down fishing and won’t be interested in where I am or what I’m doing. He might even huff when I ask him to collect me from the station. Hang the expense, I’ll get a taxi. Spend a little more of the money we haven’t got.

I think of Lauren and worry about her going home to an empty flat. But is that any worse than going home to the tail-end of a petty row?

My sister could do with more steadiness in her life and less drama. Whereas I need less of the steadiness and more excitement. It’s like the whole curly hair/straight hair dilemma. Whatever you’re blessed with, you want the opposite. Straight, you have it permed. Curly, you have it straightened. Hair issues, I’m sure you’ve found, are invariably a lot easier to fix than your relationship ones.

It would be fair to say that Lauren and I were more of a disappointment to our dear parents than Chelsea ever was. After our sister’s shining example, believe me, they had high hopes for us. We let them down, badly. No matter how often they compared us to Chelsea – and they did, regularly – we were always found wanting.