‘Yeah, I can see that. God, Isla. It’s so sad, though.’ I picture the natural history department, which she oversees, and which consists mainly of stuffed animals from Victorian times. It’s dated, yes, but charming; like stepping into a bygone era with its reverential atmosphere and smartly uniformed staff. Spencer used to love it whenever I took him there, and Izzy does too, although she used to find the stuffed animals a little scary when she was very young.

‘I do realise taxidermy isn’t sexy,’ Isla adds. ‘It can actually make people angry these days. We try to explain that the animals all died of natural causes and have historical value but there’s no appeasing them sometimes.’

My kind, gentle friend seems pretty worked up, and I feel powerless to help.

‘What about some kind of fashion event?’ I suggest. ‘Could the costume department pull something together, get the place talked about again?’

‘Actually, I suggested that,’ Isla says. ‘The trouble is, the really popular stuff tends to be mid-Fifties onwards and we don’t have much from that era. The collection’s mostly Edwardian and Victorian, and I know plenty of people love that too. But it just doesn’t have that mass appeal.’

‘Well, maybe Penny could help?’ I add. ‘She probably has a few original pieces stashed away, and she definitely has the knowledge and the expertise. And I’m sure she’d be happy to at least come in for a chat …’

‘I’ll talk to management,’ Isla says, perking up a little now. ‘Fashion would be great. We really need some kind of event to bring in younger visitors.’ She smiles. ‘Let’s face it, taxidermy probably has a bit of an image problem. No one’s excited by an ancient beaver with moth-eaten ears, clinging to a tree stump.’

‘Is Tinder really that bad?’ I ask.

She laughs. ‘It’s just not what people are looking for on a day out. If they’re into natural history they expect biospheres and simulated volcanic eruptions. And if it’s history they love, they want to be transported through reconstructed Pictish villages with authentic smells of early latrines.’ She takes a big swig from her glass.

‘That sounds fascinating. Even Spencer would come home to see that. Remember when I took him to that museum in Edinburgh and he saw a pickled human penis in a jar?’

‘God, yes!’

‘He talked about that for about three years afterwards. For a while it felt like part of the family. I suggested we should start sending it a Christmas card.’

‘That’s it,’ Isla sniggers. ‘That’s exactly what we need. A severed member to bring in the crowds …’ She grins at me, and we do that telepathy thing that only close friends are capable of.