Amanda gently puts the steaming hot dish of pasta on the table, rips off her immaculately clean oven gloves and slides into her chair with a sigh. ‘Gosh, I’m starving. Dig in, ladies.’ She raises a hand as Sadie goes to pour her a glass of champagne. ‘Oh no, Sadie, not for me. I’m with Emily today, I’m afraid.’ Sadie pouts, but reaches for the glass jug of fruit-infused water on the table and fills both our glasses up, before pouring champagne for herself. As Amanda spoons the cheesy pasta onto my plate, I have to fight back a wave of nausea.

‘Will you excuse me for just a moment?’ I shove my chair back, startling both women. ‘I just need to use the bathroom.’

Rushing from the room, I press my hand against my stomach as it swoops and swirls, slamming the lock home on the bathroom door. I lean on the sink and take a deep breath before running the cold tap and splashing water on my face and wrists to cool myself down. I raise my eyes to the mirror, to my reflection staring back at me. Sadie is right, I do look awful. I think of Rupert and I together in Sadie’s downstairs loo at her Easter party, my face flushed, my eyes sparkling as I watched us in the mirror. Today, by contrast, my face is pale, dark circles smudge the skin under my eyes, despite the caking on of concealer, showing the lack of sleep I’ve had. I flush the toilet for effect and splash my face with water once more, drying my cheeks on the soft, almost linen-feel paper towels that Amanda has left out for her guests. As I step on the pedal to raise the lid of the bin, something catches my eye. Leaning down, I pick it up, careful not to touch the end, and look back at myself in the mirror. This explains why Amanda doesn’t want a glass of champagne.

When I return to the table the two women are a little flushed and giggly. I sit back down, apologizing for rushing off so quickly, as I try to shake off the feeling that perhaps they have been talking about me.

‘Are you all right?’ Sadie asks. There is concern in her eyes, but she still reaches for her champagne glass.

‘Yes, sorry. I just needed to cool off for a moment.’ I laugh and mime fanning myself.

‘Well. As long as you’re OK,’ Sadie says, a slight tinge of suspicion in her tone. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be a mother hen,’ she tries to smile but it doesn’t quite work, ‘Caro kept dashing off like that before she died.’

I open my mouth to ask why, but Amanda breaks in, clearly unable to wait to tell us her news.