When I meet the four women in the small, cramped café, I am overwhelmed by their welcome, and how much they remember about our time together; we all worked together on The Glass Menagerie back in the day. There was the huge drama when two of the cast, both of whom had partners, were discovered to be having an illicit affair, which exploded in a public row, leaving us without our male lead. There was the panic over the flamboyant dress, which had fitted perfectly, but which was then deemed to be ‘excruciating’ by the prima donna star, and a replacement had to be found with four hours’ notice. Then, more happily, a dress rehearsal had ended in a spontaneous birthday celebration when I’d brought in cakes and champagne and we’d partied until 4 a.m. But then, why wouldn’t these women remember those times? I certainly do – I’d adored my job then, despite the perpetual panics – and it was only a decade ago. It just feels like a whole other life, and I feel like a different person now, although perhaps I’m not really, underneath.

‘I’d love to do the show,’ announces Charlotte, who’s in her late thirties, with a shock of curly red hair that springs around her pale cheeks.

‘Me too,’ says her friend Sammia. ‘Can I bag a trouser suit, though, and not a mini?’

‘The skirts aren’t terribly mini,’ I say, smiling. ‘Remember, this was the Seventies, not the Sixties …’

‘But what about hot pants?’ she asks, cringing.

‘Oh, yes.’ I smile. ‘There are a couple of pairs of those, but we’ll see what everyone feels comfortable wearing. We’ll have dress rehearsals. It’s crucial that everyone feels totally comfortable in their outfits.’

‘Oh, I can’t wait,’ Sammia says, grinning. ‘My mum used to shop at Girl Friday. Can she come?’

‘Of course she can,’ I exclaim. ‘You can all bring guests. It’s the least we can do to thank you.’

There are four actors here, ranging from Erin, who’s the youngest at twenty-nine, to Grace, who’s in her late forties. I still haven’t found my older model, and we really are cutting it fine now. The posters and programme have been designed, and Hannah is keen to get them finished. However, once they’re out there, Penny is sure to find out. ‘Can we hold off,’ I had asked Hannah, ‘until we’ve got our poncho? I really think we need one, worn by one of our models, for the poster. Let’s just wait a few more days.’