‘As long as she feels consulted,’ I finish. ‘The way I see it, there’ll still be time for her to get involved. I need to find models, and that’s proving a lot trickier than I’d expected – the agencies are just too expensive. There’s hair and make-up too. I really want it to look professional—’

‘Of course you do.’

‘I’d hate it to be shabby and to let Penny down,’ I add, ‘so I think I’m going to have to pull in a lot of favours. Once that’s all sorted out, the outfits still need to be chosen and put together and styled. And I’m hoping that’s where Penny will come in.’

‘Yeah,’ Nick says. ‘That’s her forte, after all.’

I nod. ‘It’s essential, really. I mean, it’s her look. She created it. So she’ll be our …’ I pause, trying to think of the correct title. ‘Creative Director.’

‘Creative Director in Chief,’ he suggests, and we smile. It feels so right that Nick’s here, checking in and supporting me. But I can tell that he’s conscious of not overstepping things. When Andy and I were still together, I found myself often deferring to him, which seems ridiculous now. In all our years together, if there was a debate over the tiles we’d pick for the bathroom, or whose parents we’d spend Christmas with, he would generally get his way. Film choices, meals out, holiday destinations; I’d have my opinions but Andy had a way of turning things around so his choice would seem like the one to go for. I lost my backbone, it seems, and I’m almost ashamed of it now. Was it a gender thing, or the fact that he enjoyed more status, career-wise? I suppose I’d never been the most confident young woman. Anxiety had always niggled away at me, to some degree; my parents, although loving, were never the ‘You can achieve anything!’ types. Perhaps I felt flattered and lucky to have met and married someone like Andy. But everything’s different now, and for the first time I am acutely aware of being in charge of my own life, and it’s quite exhilarating.