‘Honestly, I do realise it might seem kind of extravagant but, girls, it’s such an investment, matching skin tone to paint.’ The smile seemed only a little frozen, and whether that was the facial fillers, so subtle you could barely see them, or Ruby’s expletive, was impossible to know. ‘We all need to help ourselves, don’t you think? Self-care is our biggest responsibility to our children, isn’t that what that lovely Jan Vermaak blogs about?’

I thought it was food, shelter and love, a little voice murmured.

‘Jan? She comes to the gym with her eldest daughter sometimes,’ I said. And she was poisonous, passive aggressive to the highest degree. ‘Always pounding the treadmills!’

‘Happy mum, happy kids!’ Nella waved us to an emerald sofa the size of Scotland. ‘Or is that very bad of me? Am I being too frivolous?’

‘Yes. No. I mean – no, of course, look after yourself.’ I clocked Ruby’s nod, as if self-care and tonal colour coordination were her highest priorities, rather than just paying her bills. Honestly, I think we’d both far rather have been on Ruby’s own saggy old brown sofa with a Mr Lucky takeaway and an episode of Love Island, with Zach and Ceci for company.

Yep, I’d take monosyllables over Sicilian Syllabub any day.

‘We’re super lucky, of course, I do know, Ruthie.’ This last intoned like a well-learnt mantra as Nella swiped through her iPad.

‘Um, it’s…’ Gingerly, Ruby leant on a canary-yellow cushion, tapping a spot on her sweetheart neckline helpfully. ‘It’s Ruby. Not Ruth…’

‘Ruby?’ Nella said absently. ‘Oh, I’m terrible with names!’ She mimed a gun to her head. ‘Shoot me now! Gosh, now where is my Pinterest board.’

‘I bet a downward dog goes down a treat here.’ My gold hoops flashed in the mirror as I turned to the big sash window onto the square. ‘We could do a sponsored session, at the street party. That private lawn in the middle would be perfect – if we can get the keys, of course.’

‘Oh, don’t you have a set? We all—’ Nella stopped, abruptly.

‘Ha!’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘We might set up camp if we got in.’

Actually, our fifties townhouse was nice: on the nearest corner of the square, a blight in the Georgian haven, a nasty reminder of a final Blitz bomb wiping out a whole terrace. Smart enough – but Nella didn’t know that. We never met at mine, of course, always here or at the private gym I worked at.

Nella wasn’t fazed though, laughing at my ‘joke’ lightly. Then she put the iPad down on the coffee table and stared at both of us intently.

I saw Ruby put a hand to her cheek, and I also vaguely wondered if there was something on my face.

‘Actually, girls’ – Nella’s smile dimmed – ‘I do have a favour to ask you.’

‘Can’t give out my dealer’s details,’ I said, winking. ‘Mum’s the word, hon, you know.’

‘What? Oh, ha, I see – how funny!’ The smile was definitely fixed now. ‘No, it’s about my daughter actually.’ In her leather armchair, hands clasped in front of her chest as if in prayer, Nella looked for all the world like something from Jackanory. I plonked myself beside Ruby, ready for the story.