‘Possibly. A certain kind of eco-posh person might think it was biological fascism to believe that flesh-and-blood relationships count for anything.’

Charlie ducks down in her seat, startling me. Then, just as suddenly, she springs back up. ‘Here she comes – Natalie on her own. No Liv. I thought they’d arrive together.’

So did I. I rang and checked, claiming to be the sister of the bride and using my Don’t-even-think-about-saying-no-to-me voice: Liv was the one who booked Natalie’s appointment. They ought to be arriving together in a stupid, arm-linked, girly way.

Natalie Burge is tall and slim with centre-parted glossy dark hair. She’s wearing black boots with brown square heels and a long fawn-coloured coat with a belt. She’s the kind of woman who’ll look brilliant in any wedding dress. I married Gabe wearing black trousers and a cream linen shirt. I knew that if I attempted traditional attire I’d only end up looking like a psychopath who’d murdered The Good Fairy and stolen her outfit; I have the wrong range of facial expressions, and hair that’s too unruly for frilly white dresses.

Natalie passes my car without taking an interest in its inhabitants. She’s hurrying towards The Tailor’s Cat. In she goes.

‘She’s going to be pissed off with Liv for being late.’ Charlie sounds like a jaded sports commentator describing a match that’s a let-down from the start. ‘Hopefully she’ll realise she’s asked a selfish twat to be her best woman.’

I’m about to reply when Natalie reappears on the street, phone pressed against her ear, talking in an animated way.

I open my window. At first the wind blows her words away, but then I manage to catch a few.

‘I can ring you in an hour, hour and a half maybe? That okay? I’m busy with a friend in town at the moment – longstanding commitment. Okay, cool. Thanks, I appreciate …’

Four young men dressed in black gowns and mortarboard hats walk past, complaining about how early they have to get up the next day for rowing practice.

Once they’ve passed, I can hear Natalie again. ‘That’ll be perfect. Looking forward muchly. Okay, I’ll quickly let Debjani know and then I’d better get back to my friend – I’ve abandoned her in the shop!’ She turns and glances over her shoulder at The Tailor’s Cat. ‘Okay, ciao ciao!’

Anyone capable of two ‘ciao’s and one ‘muchly’ could sell a baby for cold, hard cash without flinching, I decide.

Charlie elbows me hard. ‘Did you hear that? Liv’s in there.’

‘Sounds like it.’

‘She must have been earlier than us and more than half an hour early for the appointment. That’s not like her. What the fuck’s going on?’

The person who knows the answer to that question is pressing buttons on her phone, still standing outside the shop.