I cringe inside a little, guilt making me feel hot and prickly. ‘It was lovely, thank you, I’m sorry I…’ I break off. I’m sorry I didn’t invite you, were the words on the tip of my tongue, but it seems too cruel to say it so bluntly. I had had every intention of inviting Mags to the wedding, had even started to write her name on an invitation, but when I thought about the way people – new friends like Sadie and Amanda – would look at Mags, the way Rupert had said, ‘Are you sure you want her there?’, I had torn the invitation in two and stuck it deep down into the kitchen bin. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No problem. I was probably busy that day.’ Mags sounds hurt, but she hides it with a cool smile, nothing like her usual wide grin. ‘Your new life seems to be suiting you, anyway.’ She looks me up and down, taking in the expensive jeans, the silk top, the Hermès bag that now swings from my forearm, a honeymoon present from Rupert.

‘Look, Mags, I really do have to dash, I’m sorry.’ Discreetly, I check my watch again, ‘I know I should have called, or come over, or something, but we’ve only been back from our honeymoon for a few days and things have been kind of manic.’

‘Right. Kind of manic, going to that posh leisure centre down the road to do yoga with that girl. What’s her name? Sadie.’

I pause, my heart doing a funny stutter in my chest. ‘Mags…’

‘No, no. It’s fine. I only put you back together again after the whole Harry thing. But you know, as long as you have time for yoga with your new friends, that’s the most important thing, right?’ Mags pulls out a crumpled hand-rolled cigarette and lights it with a flourish. ‘Don’t worry about it, Em.’

‘There’s no need to be like that,’ I say, but I would feel the same way, I think to myself. Mags has every right to be annoyed with me. ‘I’ll come and see you next week, shall I? We can have lunch or something.’

‘What, you’ll invite me over to your big house, with your stone lions, and your big driveway, like you do all your other, new friends? I don’t think so, Emily, that’s not really my style is it?’ Mags turns and starts to walk away, but not before I see the hurt flash across her face. She turns back. ‘You’ve got some post, at the flat, by the way. I’ll send it on, shall I?’