I exhale. Izzy is out with her dad, so it’s an ideal opportunity to get this done; I’m feeling self-conscious enough without her insisting on watching, as I know she would. ‘Remember, I’ll shoot loads,’ he says, ‘and edit it down. So just chat naturally, like you usually do. It’ll be a conversation between us. Try to forget there’s a camera here at all.’

I laugh. ‘I’m sorry, my brain won’t let me do that.’ But we start anyway, and as Nick prompts me with questions it starts to feel … well, not wholly natural, but not quite torturous either.

‘What about that trouser suit?’ he asks, indicating it hanging on Spencer’s wardrobe door. I explain its significance – the fact that it was the first outfit that the young magazines really picked up on, being so bold and beautifully cut, and it was featured widely. Soon, an actress in a soap opera wore it as her going-away outfit at her wedding, and that was it. ‘She was like an influencer of her day,’ I say. ‘Suddenly, this boutique stocked with affordable clothes that pretty much any girl could buy, became something everyone wanted a piece of.’

He knows this, of course. But he nods encouragingly, and so I continue by explaining how, as each new piece has arrived, the Girl Friday ethos – fun, fashionable and full of life – began to come into focus for me.

‘I started to really get it,’ I tell him, holding up a banana-yellow cheesecloth tunic to illustrate my point. ‘I remembered how thrilling it was to go shopping with the money from my Saturday job, when I was young. I didn’t have Girl Friday, of course. That was gone by then. But it was a similar thing that Penny had set into motion the decade before. It was all about dressing up, feeling good, going out with my mates on the weekend.’

I pause; I could almost be in my own teenage bedroom now – not my son’s – which Mum had allowed me to decorate, although my choice of purple cork-patterned wallpaper had baffled her. I wish she’d gone for something more classic, Dennis! she’d said to my dad. When I’d left home she’d redone it in magnolia.

‘When you grow up,’ I continue, ‘you accumulate all these responsibilities. You might enjoy yourself still – of course you do – but it’s a different kind of enjoyment. It’s not that feeling of pure, unadulterated fun and freedom that you have when you’re young. And that’s what this makes me feel.’