Blame Jones’ acoustic spin on ‘You’re All I Need To Get By’ came on in the background and I had the clearest image: Betty sloshing about, beer bottle in hand; Faith with her arm around Lily’s waist; Cora and Molly slow-dancing together but howling with laughter at the same time. I had the photograph somewhere; a hard copy from when we’d gone retro and taken a disposable camera on a night out with us. It would have been the perfect distractor task to go and search it out, spend ten minutes – if not longer – staring through the image to the finer details in the background, trying to piece together a memory of exactly where we were when it was taken.

But when I checked the wall clock, I realised I didn’t have time for distractions. Company would be arriving in the next fifteen minutes, and I was still wearing a Hawaiian-print bath towel and a frown. I picked up pace to the music and moved at a deliberate speed along all the clothes I’d adopted from Fred’s wardrobe. I even blinked hard while my fingers flicked that denim dress out of the way, one she’d gifted me with a condition – ‘You can only ever wear this without tights, and without leggings. Deal?’ – and she’d sealed it with a kiss on the cheek when I agreed.

In the end I went for a loose-fitting jumpsuit; navy blue and a ten out of ten for comfort. It moved well with me while I bopped to the music, trying still to get my energies up and ready. Prepped to play at being a good hostess, I pulled out restaurant-calibre dishes from the cupboard I only normally cracked open when my parents were visiting; which must have meant I was ready for a special occasion. I put dishes into the oven to heat through, alongside bake-from-the-bag bread rolls. Then, in time with the oven door clanging closed, the front door chimed a tune.

I imagined Lily coaching me through a big belly breath while I walked the stretch of the hallway. I exhaled, grabbed the door and yanked it open as though the three things were connected to the same movement. Otherwise, it would have taken me as long to open the door as it had done to choose an outfit.

‘Wow.’ Rowan had a bottle of white wine in one hand and flowers in the other. But he was wearing a shirt that hadn’t been ironed and I felt guilty for having noticed. Given that this was the first time we’d seen each other since that night, though, I was only glad that he was brandishing a creased shirt and a bottle of wine, rather than a chapter and verse from the Old Testament and a threat to tell Mum and Dad. ‘Edi, you look …’ He petered out, leaned in and kissed me – on the cheek. ‘You look amazing.’