‘I block the haters. It’s a bit like trying to kill flies though, you get one but as soon as it’s dead another one appears. But mostly people are nice. Instagram is good … for someone like me,’ she says, suddenly quite coy.

‘Someone like you?’ I ask, gently. Not wanting to overstep any marks here, but fascinated.

‘Someone who’s trying to fill a void,’ she says, as if that isn’t a huge answer that obviously leaves me wanting to know more. She stands next to me and scrolls through all the comments. There are a few mean ones, but they are mostly about how gorgeous she is, how sexy, how lucky. She smiles as she reads them, and I wonder if, for a moment, that void she mentioned narrows a little. Then we see a comment that ruins the mood.

Of course she’s a wedding planner, looks like she loves a buffet #fatty

‘Oh,’ I say, wishing I had pretended not to notice it.

‘Oh that idiot. Who is he anyway?’ she says, getting up and putting her phone on the kitchen counter. ‘People like him don’t matter. Some lonely weirdo who has nothing better to do than post things on the Internet. Ignore it.’

I wonder if she sees the irony of what she just said.

I sit up straight, and suck in my tummy. Suddenly feeling like a massive blob of flab.

‘It’s all good,’ I tell her. ‘I absolutely do love a buffet, so he’s not wrong.’

She thinks that is funny.

‘I like you,’ she says, as if she’s thinking a thousand things but only saying one.

I smile awkwardly. ‘Thanks, I like you too. Shall we get back to the wedding?’

‘Yes, let’s do this.’

‘So, the leaked invite. Is there anything I can do to help with that?’

She rolls her eyes.

‘“Leaked invite”. Sure. If your mother handing an invite directly into the Sun’s showbiz editor’s hand is a case of a “leaked invite”. It’s OK, it was inevitable.’

‘Your mother did it?’

‘My mother does whatever she can for attention.’

‘And you’re OK with that?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I had to sign a lot of NDAs but your mum just hands out the invite?’

‘What do you think I should do, have her sign one?’ she says, snapping at me a little. ‘And maybe I’ll get Gavin to sign one too, stop him …’

She trails off there. I say nothing, desperate for her to finish her sentence. She doesn’t. ‘How’s the baby?’ she asks me, moving on.

‘He’s fine, so sweet,’ I say. ‘Thanks for asking.’