‘You don’t think it’s too much?’ I asked, mesmerized by the way the crystals sparkled under the ceiling lights.

‘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.’

I took the dress off its hanger and stepped into the bodice, careful not to tread on the tulle as I pulled it up over my arse. Rachel fastened the single shoulder strap and I looked up at my reflection in the mirror. My mouth fell open. When Jess went shopping, she was always searching for the outfit that would most clearly communicate who she was and who she wanted to be, the pair of shoes that told the world who she knew she was, deep inside. I, on the other hand, considered my clothes camouflage. Simple, neutral, don’t look at me. This was something else entirely. I hadn’t just put on a different dress, I’d stepped into a different life. Gone was the girl who wore beige bras and sensible cardigans, and in her place was a glamorous, confident, beautiful woman. She was the kind of person who didn’t worry about things like how far she might end up walking before deciding which shoes to wear. The woman who wore this dress never ran all the way back home from the bus stop to make sure she’d turned the central heating off because the bill wasn’t going to pay itself. A legion of friends hung on her every word, her boyfriends adored her, and it was someone else’s job to make sure there was toilet paper in the bathroom before she sat down to pee.