I peer inside the fridge and it’s stuffed full of various dishes, covered over with cling film, and smelling delicious already.

‘Right.’ He scrapes a heap of chopped-up stuff into a Pyrex dish, mixes it with what looks like some chunks of fish, and covers them over.

‘Can I help?’ I feel a bit useless standing there when the master is at work. He shakes his head.

‘Nah, that’s it all done.’ He runs the tap and washes his hands, shoving the prep stuff in the dishwasher and turning it on. ‘You guys ready?’

We walk down to Paddington where the boats are moored. There’s a little queue – families and tourists all waiting to get on board their boats. Everyone seems to be feeling the same as we are – slightly nervous and a bit giggly. I’m trying very hard not to worry about all the six million things that could go wrong. I’m not really a boat person. I’m surprised to discover that Becky knows exactly what she’s doing. She ushers us all onto a boat and we sit down. I’m peering around, looking for oars.

‘It’s electric,’ she says, laughing. She sits down at the back, and expertly steers us away from Merchant Square and the throngs of tourists who are milling around. There are loads of boats on the water, and yet somehow Becky manages to smoothly dodge out of the way, and before we know it we’re sailing along, the sun reflecting on the water. I’m glad I’ve brought my sunglasses. Alex is wearing his, too, and Rob – his pale freckled arms covered in sun cream – is wearing a baseball cap, and sitting at the steering end of the boat – I think it’s the stern, or maybe it’s the bow; one of those, anyway – with Becky. It’s clear he’s dying to have a turn.

I sit sideways on, my knees almost brushing against Alex’s jeans. He’s gazing out at the water, lost in thought.

‘It’s so quiet,’ he says, after a while.

Rob and Becky are chatting away about cooking stuff. I’m watching the way the long arms of the weeping willow branches reach down, their leaves swishing gently in the breeze. Families with dogs and pushchairs are walking along the canal-side and I think about Sophie and her trying-to-get-pregnant headstand and it makes me laugh.

Alex pulls his glasses off and looks at me suspiciously, his mouth turning up in amusement. ‘What’s the joke?’

I put a hand up to my mouth, hiding my smile. ‘Don’t ask.’

‘I’m glad we came out,’ Alex says, nudging my knee gently with his. ‘Thanks.’

‘It was Becky’s idea. She thought you might want to be distracted today, because . . .’ I tail off, taking my sunglasses off, too, and chewing on the arm of them. I look at him and push my hair back from my face.