‘Fran, this might be the only occasion in your entire life where the words “too much” do not exist,’ she replied, thrusting it into my arms. ‘Or do you have another event coming up in your social calendar where you might wear twenty grand’s worth of couture ballgown?’

‘Nothing in the diary at the moment.’

‘Then let’s see if it fits.’

‘I’ll go in the other room,’ I offered as she began peeling off her clothes, jeans already unfastened.

‘Now I know you don’t have kids,’ she cackled from inside her T-shirt. ‘After two of them, no part of me is sacred, but I used to be like you, I totally get it.’

With a deep breath, I turned my back and shrugged off the hotel robe. Today was the day for me to put on my big girl pants, although only metaphorically speaking given that I didn’t have any pants on at all.

‘What do you think?’

I cranked my head as far as it would go over my shoulder to see Rachel beaming at me, drowning in a sea of greenish-blue beading. The deep V-neck slashed almost past her belly button and the heavily embellished fabric pooled around her feet. It was definitely a dress made for someone less blessed in the chest department than Rachel. And someone taller. And someone with more money than sense.

‘That is a very nice dress,’ I said, even though it was not.

She turned to frown at herself in the mirror. ‘It looks like I borrowed my mum’s favourite kaftan then got into a fist fight with a parrot,’ she replied. ‘I suppose not even Gucci gets it right every time. Let’s see yours.’