‘Sure, down the hall, third door on the right,’ Lauren tells me. It’s quite exciting to pee on Gavin Riley’s toilet.

As I come back up the corridor, I hear them talking quietly. It’s obvious the conversation isn’t very pleasant. I wait silently outside the kitchen, hoping they’ll finish.

‘It’s my Instagram feed, Mum. I’ll say what I want.’

‘But all that stuff about feeling unhappy. And feeling scared. You mustn’t talk like that publicly, it isn’t good for the brand. You make us all look so unstable.’

‘For the brand? Mum, it’s how I feel. If it was down to you my entire life would be fake.’

‘I think we should do a picture, the two of us, your hair’s looking so beautiful. Let’s give them something lovely to look at, shall we?’

‘But why? It’s fine to say it’s not all perfect, I—’

I cough loudly to announce my return. Lauren looks visibly upset. Mayra looks as stony-faced as ever. But that could just be the Botox.

‘Right, then, I’d better go,’ I say awkwardly, picking up my bag. ‘I’ll see myself out. Call me if you need anything, OK Lauren?’

‘She will,’ answers Mayra, with a painfully fake smile.

As I walk down into Hampstead Heath I let the fresh air fill my lungs. I could do with some exercise, and it’s so rare that I get to be fully alone. With Risky in the office, continuous phone calls, panic meetings and location visits, there is barely a second for myself. I tell my brides to look after themselves in the run-up to their weddings. To make sure they relax, to work on their ‘self-care’ regimes. Maybe it is advice I should take for myself, but when exactly am I supposed to do that? At home it’s Tommy and Michael, the night feeds, the strained conversations, the awkwardness of bedtime. It’s a lot. Wherever I am I always worry I’m giving one part of my life more attention than it deserves and neglecting the other. I need to find a better balance. Somewhere in this wild schedule there needs to be time for me and my own needs. Whatever they are. I don’t even know anymore.