I nip to the loo and when I get back I stand for a moment, watching Jess chatting to Becky. I’ve been trying to work out how to talk to her about the whole thing with Emma – I mean if we’re friends, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be telling her, but at the same time, it feels – awkward. I don’t want to mention it in front of Becky though, because of her whole no relationships thing – not that it is a relationship. That’s kind of the whole point.

‘Ready?’ Andrea turns to me, and the moment is lost. From then on we’re caught in a strange mixture of cheering then waiting, waiting then cheering.

The Mass Race runners come through first – super fit amateur athletes who zoom past us wearing our charity colours, grabbing a drink and tossing it to one side before pelting on down the road in search of a personal best time.

‘I’m waiting for the people in fancy dress.’ Jess peers into the distance again. ‘I can’t believe the noise.’

‘That’s why I said earlier that you’d soon have enough of it.’ Harry grins and rattles the noisemakers near her ear. She ducks away, laughing.

Becky isn’t joking when she says Jess cries at the runners. When the charity runners start coming through with the names of the people they’re running for and their photos printed on the backs of their T-shirts, Jess basically starts sobbing and doesn’t stop. Becky teases her about it incessantly.

‘Shut up,’ Jess says, wiping her face with both hands. Any make-up she had on is long gone. She blows her nose on a spare bit of kitchen roll from Andrea’s picnic bag. ‘I can’t help it. It’s just so . . .’ and she points to a woman who’s half-walking, half-jogging with “This one’s for you, Dad” on the back of her T-shirt. And just like that, my heart cracks and I feel tears streaming down my face, too. I wipe them away, ineffectually. Jess hands me one of her tissues, silently, and bumps the side of my arm with hers.

‘I feel like I’ve run a marathon after all that,’ Becky says, hours later, as we fold up the last of the tables and high-five the other supporters. She blows us a kiss and heads off before we do, because she’s left her stuff at her friend’s place.

The tractors and clearing-up lorries have passed by now, following a handful of stragglers – some who were walking, some clearly baking hot in heavy fancy dress costumes. It’s a long way to go dressed as Big Bird on a sunny day. Still, Big Bird gave us a cheery wave.