Luckily, Fred beckons me over and tugs me under his arm when I’m within reach. ‘Come here. Have some birthday cake. It’s half yours too. Kinda.’

Never one to turn down baked goods, and feeling like I might have exercised enough to have earned it this time, I pick a larger piece than is probably polite.

Almost as though she can sense I’ve been up to no good, Anna pops up.

‘So, Bea, how’s the love life? How’s the card making going? How’s life at work? How was Mia’s wedding?’ Straight to the point as ever. ‘Fill me in. Let me live vicariously through you.’ I take this as a subtle way of her saying, ‘You should be doing more with your life.’ I don’t 100 per cent disagree with her.

I have just enough time to take a rather large mouthful of cake, knowing the chew time will give me some precious moments to fortify myself.

I nod and flap my free hand about, pretending to be chewing faster, and eventually swallow. ‘All ticking along quite nicely. I don’t want to say too much and jinx it –’ a phrase I hope means she’ll back off – ‘but card-wise I’ve actually been building out more of a solid business plan with my friend Peter. Work-wise, I’ve been given some more responsibility mentoring newly hired employees –’ sure, this is a bit of a stretch, but it’s fine – ‘and love life-wise, nothing of note to report.’ At this last point I give her what I hope is a subtle look that says, ‘Something is going on, but I’m not going to share it in front of Fred.’

Of course I have absolutely no intention of sharing my antics with her, but she doesn’t need to know that. I need to make sure I stay close enough to the protective embrace of my big brother at all times, thereby making the subject off-limits.

‘Peter?’ Fred asks. Right in the middle of a sexy mini flashback to Colin, Peter’s name is an unwelcome surprise. Not noticing my discomfort, Fred keeps talking. Mainly to himself. ‘I like Peter.’ Peter came over a couple of times during our summer holidays at university, saying he needed a break from his lovely but occasionally overbearing mother. The first time he stayed I was uncomfortable; I knew his house had to be impressive, and I worried what he would think of my vastly more humble abode. I have a sneaking suspicion that Peter is the only one of my friends my brother actually remembers.

‘Well, that’s all wonderful!’ Anna’s chirpier voice brings me back to the present; I can tell she has limited interest in the anecdote from Fred. ‘And what about Mia’s wedding?’

My first thought is of that total knob at the wedding who said I could have been his next girlfriend. I try to bat down the hatred.

But the hatred melts quickly into worry. Mia and I normally text each other at least once a day, but even her awkward ‘trying to be nice’ messages have stopped, and so I haven’t actually spoken to her since her birthday drinks. That was five weeks ago now.