‘And then Marie pretends to throw up, and the pharmacist seems to understand, and then she asks if I also have diarrhoea – but she does it with hand gestures next to her butt and farting noises.’

Even though it really wasn’t suitable mealtime conversation, the rest of us were laughing so hard it didn’t matter.

‘Anyway, we establish that, yes, he is vomiting and, yes, he has diarrhoea, and we get the drugs to stop both on the train ride back to London.’

‘So that was our tragically crappy first trip to Paris together.’ Gary emphasised the word ‘crappy’, and we all groaned. Marie laughed and looked at her husband adoringly.

My mind flicked to Neil the fuckhead. I searched my memory for any instance where we’d shared a story like that with our friends. There were none. For one thing, Neil and I didn’t share any friends, which was entirely his fault. Throughout our relationship, he baulked at any suggestion to get together with my friends, or even his. And he would never have taken me to Paris – or anywhere like it – because he couldn’t be adventurous or romantic to save his life. Also, Neil wasn’t remotely interesting enough to tell a good story.

I stifled a derisive snort, disguising it as a cough. No one seemed to notice, except Josh. He glanced in my direction, and I cleared my throat while tapping my chest. Sure that I’d sold my fake cough, I nestled into thinking about how much energy I had expended mourning my relationship with Neil. I had wasted a lot of time crying about a man who didn’t really love me, if I was completely honest with myself, and who didn’t deserve my love – a man who was, in fact, a dick. For months, my friends and my sister had been telling me that exact thing, but it was the first time I realised it for myself.

I swung my attention back to the table. They were flogging the dead horse with puns about defecation. ‘That is certainly the shittiest story I have ever heard,’ said Duncan. I joined in on a collective groan.

‘Okay! Enough!’ Marie cried out through her laughter.

‘But seriously, though, it’s the best reason I’ve ever heard for going back somewhere,’ Duncan added. The rest of us agreed – even Hannah who seemed way more messed up about love and romance than me.

An hour later, my stomach hurt and it was my own doing. I had eaten the bodyweight of a small child in delicious, home-grown, home-made Greek food. I sat back from the table and rubbed a hand over my food baby. Martika returned to the table carrying what I could only guess was more food. I would have shooed her away, but I could no longer lift my arms.