Bea’s parents were throwing Jeremy and Bea an engagement party dinner at a gorgeous restaurant in Covent Garden. There were about twenty people altogether on a long trestle table, and the restaurant was loud and full of noisy atmosphere. Cec, Isla, Bea and I were there, plus a few other friends, and around ten family members, including Jeremy’s parents and brother. The four of us girls were sitting down one end of the table. Cec had dyed her hair even blonder for the occasion, Bea was wearing a bright headscarf, and Isla was wearing a cashmere beret with her signature fringe poking out. I was wearing a pair of velvet dungarees, hoping they wouldn’t give me thrush. Jeremy was at the other end with his family. I liked the fact that Bea had chosen to sit with us. It was a sign, however small, that she wasn’t quite ‘leaving us’.

‘I’m not doing the whole bridesmaids bullshit, by the way, but will you guys please sleep in the room with me the night before the wedding and we can get ready all together in the morning?’ Bea asked, folding out her napkin.

‘Hell yes,’ Cec said. ‘I’m so excited. Weddings are such fun. What do we wear? Nothing too slutty right?’

‘Whatever you want!’ Bea said.

‘Should we coordinate though?’ Isla asked.

‘Nah! I find it really weird when brides make grown women wear a lame pastel-coloured dress. I wouldn’t want to do that to you,’ Bea laughed, ripping off a piece of sourdough from the bread basket.

‘Such an exciting next step, Bea. I can’t believe you’re getting married,’ Cec said.

‘I know, but marriage changes literally nothing. Just an excuse for a piece of bling on the ol’ finger and a big old knees-up with my favourite people! But it feels so nice to know Jeremy wants all the same things as me. We want to get on with it – build a family, you know?’

‘Yeah, yeah – but it’s also about the party!’ Cec said, excitedly. We all knew Cec was going to go wild – she had been known to lead many a conga around a marquee.

A cold bottle of champagne arrived in a silver cooler, and everyone was poured a glass by a good-looking waiter in a suit. Bea’s mum Sonya tapped a fork on the side of her glass, getting a folded piece of paper out of her pocket to do a little speech.

‘My darling Bea! It makes me so happy to see you blossom, to find so many things that bring you joy. The galleries, your best girlfriends, and – of course – the lovely Jeremy … You have built all of this yourself with your spirit, energy, and the way you summon such positivity into your life. I’m so proud to be your mum.’

I started welling up. Sonya might be a bit woo-woo, but she was right: just knowing that Bea was on her own brilliant path to happiness, and with her best friends very much beside her through it all, was a lovely feeling.