These last few weeks have been utterly awful. The worst. When Pia got diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago we all knew things were going to get difficult – even if she did make us promise to stay positive and upbeat, proceed with no sympathy or talk of her being brave or inspirational – but I don’t think any of us really thought we’d be burying her. Not when she spent so much of the last two years travelling the globe with a smile plastered on her face. Our WhatsApp group is full of pictures of her on the edge of precarious-looking cliffs as she takes in the view, laughing under huge waterfalls while completely starkers and dancing with locals she and Mike had befriended en route. She was a feisty little lady who worked to make sure every moment counted and that she got what she wanted out of life. Death wasn’t that.

I swallow the emotion that builds in my throat. I keep saying I’m cried out, but I don’t think that’s true. Bless Zaza tonight. Standing up there like a mannequin at her own engagement party – a smile plastered on that I had to mirror back. I drank too much. I don’t want the cloudy head I currently have but I couldn’t help it. I had to keep sipping to get me through the questions and the tight smiles from Zaza’s family and friends – people I’ve loved chatting to in the past but tonight felt too close for comfort. Happy, happy, happy. Truth is the fizzy grape juice has left me grumpy and emotional and I know I’m prone to nit-picking when I shouldn’t on the occasions I’ve had one too many.

‘Beer?’ Nick asks, completely oblivious to my thoughts as he gets up and reaches towards the fridge.

‘No th–’

‘Fuuck!’ he shouts, his arms shooting in the air as he just manages to stop himself from flying backwards. ‘What the –?’ With one hand resting protectively on his chest, he reaches down and picks up the offending item with the other. He takes a moment before adjusting his black frames, looking like a jewellery dealer as he inspects one of Barnaby’s trains with a frown. ‘Nearly killed me.’

‘Didn’t though.’

‘No.’

We both get lost in our thoughts, staring at the wooden toy.

‘You’ll miss the death traps when you’re gone,’ I say. ‘There’ll be no one to keep you on your toes while you’re sunning it in LA in your swanky hotel overlooking The Hills.’

‘Sounds boring,’ he notes, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle.

‘Yep,’ I nod, the weight of the alcohol I’ve consumed making my head hang heavily. ‘Don’t go.’

‘Vic …’