‘Oh? I got this a while ago.’ Faith fiddles with the jewellery. Her stomach is so toned – Pilates every morning, now she’s not working the long hours at her old job. I suck my tummy in then, realising the frills are handily concealing it, I let it all back out. ‘A bit naff, hey? Did you really not know?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s sweet, Faith.’

‘I got it last summer.’

After a long winter snuggling with Jordan, last summer, I was up to the part of playing housemaid to my increasingly uninterested boyfriend. I was baking and cleaning and hovering around, waiting for Jordan to notice me. Faith was putting herself out there and getting on with piercings and who knows what.

‘Are you okay? Gracie, we can talk about what happened with you and Jordan whenever you’re ready. And we can leave here whenever you need to. All right?’

‘Thanks, Faith. I’ll be fine.’

Apart from my damn outfit, I am okay. I’m with my best friend, who’s looking out for me. I’m a VIP at a swanky new club opening, because our new show is catching fire. And last, but not least, Harry will be here later – he texted me earlier to say he’d be late, but he’ll be here. I’d warned him about my silly get-up and he’d texted straight back: Who cares? You have those baby blues. You always look smashing. See you in a bit. H.

Poppy waves for us to join her at the front doors. Her strappy dress looks like it’s made of grass, fronds of green cotton twisted all over. We bump ourselves to the front of the queue, where a friendly bouncer ticks our names off a special list. Inside, we make our way down the stairs and into my first VIP-access-only area.

On the upside, the place isn’t crammed with sultry stick insects. The downside is that it’s completely empty. We’re the only people in the selectively roped-off area.

We select the table with the best view over the rest of the club. Not a lot happening out there either.

Faith orders us a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

18

We’re on our second bottle of bubbly when Harry arrives at The Tricycle Club.

‘Well, well, well,’ he says, stopping behind my chair. Craning my neck, I check over my shoulder and catch his eye. Harry leans down and kisses my cheek. My tummy flips.

I’m tipsy – but it’s something more. The feeling inside my tummy is the opposite to how I felt after the awful dream. Harry showers more attention over me, in particular. He motions for a waiter to bring us more champagne.

‘Harry, you’ll get us drunk,’ Poppy giggles.

‘It’s good to relax every now and then,’ he says. ‘It’s my night off.’