‘Welcome to Briarwood Bridal.’ The woman who owns the shop is tall, with her hair cut in a severe black bob. She’s dressed in the sort of angular, expensive-looking linen stuff that designers seem to favour.

‘This place looks seriously expensive,’ Gen whispers to me, as Sophie disappears with the woman into a back room.

‘Can I get you two ladies a glass of Prosecco while you’re waiting?’

I wasn’t aware there was more waiting happening, but if there is, there might as well be Prosecco with it. I nod.

There’s a lot of rustling and we’ve almost finished our Prosecco when the severe-looking woman calls us through. Sophie – who appears to be about a foot taller than normal – is standing in the middle of the room looking pleased with herself.

‘What d’you think?’

She looks absolutely gorgeous. The dress looks even better on her than it did in the magazine, and it goes in and out in exactly the right places.

‘If you’re not pregnant by the time your wedding day comes, that dress ought to do it,’ says Gen, giving a filthy wolf whistle that earns her an even filthier look from the owner of the bridal shop. I shoot Gen the sort of look that hopefully says shut up.

‘Well,’ says Gen, defensively. ‘You are trying to get up the duff, aren’t you?’

Sophie gives her a steely look and says nothing. She’s so stressed out at the moment, even by Sophie standards.

‘I thought we were here to try on bridesmaid dresses,’ Gen says looking aggrieved.

‘We’re just going to take some measurements now, madam.’ Bob-woman unrolls a measuring tape and approaches Gen. Gen, being an old hand at costume measurements for the stage, holds out a hand, palm flat in a STOP gesture. ‘I can tell you mine right now,’ she says, parroting them off instantly. The woman inclines her head, looking slightly mollified. I lift my arms up as she measures my bust, waist and hips, feeling like I’m getting measured for school uniform. Sophie dismounts from the low stool she’s been standing on and sashays off to get changed with the aid of the tea-making girl.

Afterwards we go to the cinema then for a drink. Sophie sneaks a look at her phone before, during and after the film to see if Rich has been in touch.

‘Have you two had a fight or something?’

‘He’s just being an arse,’ says Sophie. She plaits her long hair down one shoulder, which is what she’s always done when she’s feeling anxious, so I know there’s something going on.

‘What’s up?’ Gen cocks her head sideways. She might be loud and boisterous but she’s a good person to have on your side. ‘Do you need us to go and rough him up a bit?’

Sophie laughs. ‘No. He’s just – it’s just – well, it’s been seven months now and I’m still not pregnant.’