‘He’s in town somewhere,’ she says briskly. ‘I haven’t seen him yet. To be fair, I realise it’s not just you. I’m just as annoyed with him, plotting and scheming—’

‘But it’s not like that,’ I exclaim, sensing my cheeks flaming. ‘Honestly, we just thought it was for the best. At first there was no guarantee that it would happen at all. In fact, the museum initially turned the idea down. And then it was happening, but it seemed such a monumental undertaking that I really wasn’t sure if I could pull it off. Then the clothes started to arrive – Isla and I, then Nick too, between us we’d contacted literally hundreds of vintage shops. It was slow to begin with, then things seemed to gain momentum and all these pieces were arriving, sent by shop owners because they trusted us, they believed in the project and they wanted to help …’

My voice cracks. I fix my gaze on Penny’s blue-grey eyes. Chrissie is staring down at the floor, and Izzy is still watching TV in the living room, apparently oblivious. ‘They wanted to be involved,’ I continue, ‘and I decided, once we had everything pretty sorted, then that would be the best time to tell you. I knew you might be unsure about it, after your reaction when we first talked about a fashion event. So I wanted you to see how brilliant it would be, and how excited everyone’s been to play a part in it—’

‘So it would be a fait accompli?’ she asks coolly.

‘Erm, well, yes. But in a good way, a way that would make you so proud and thrilled. I mean …’ I pause, aware of the desperation in my voice, ‘if you’re planning a surprise party, you only want the person to find out when everything’s perfect and ready and—’

‘But I hate surprise parties,’ Penny snaps. ‘Who likes them really? A party they’ve had no hand in planning and no chance to prepare for, no outfit picked out, no chance to get to the hairdresser’s …’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Do you like them?’ She turns to Chrissie who looks up, startled.

‘Um, I’m not a massive fan of them, to be honest,’ she mutters, throwing me an apologetic look.

‘And the two of you seem to have forgotten that this is my thing,’ Penny goes on. ‘Girl Friday is mine, Viv. It was my name, and my brand. And why on earth would I want the whole thing to be raked up again when I explained, quite clearly, that night with Hamish and Isla and you, that I didn’t want to be roped in as some kind of consultant?’

‘But you wouldn’t be a consultant!’ I cry, stepping towards her.

She shrinks back. ‘No, clearly not. No one’s consulted me at all!’