“Of course! And I’ll try very hard not to force you to pay sixty quid to make your own floral head garland.”

She sniggered. “That does sound quite fun, to be fair.”

“Stop it. Or I’ll un-invite you from my imaginary hen do after my imaginary proposal.”

She rubbed my calf over the top of the blanket. “Hey, if Ben’s on a stag do right now, I’m sure he’s thinking about marriage this weekend. It would be hard not to.”

I’d had the same hope myself, but pretended I hadn’t. I’d watched him pack his bag, badgering him with questions about who was going, and felt great when I realized most of them were married. We’d still not had the marriage conversation but I was hoping he’d hear from his mates about how nice it was, and maybe, finally, he’d discuss the future with me. “Really?” I asked, innocently, feeling that weird feeling again, that a camera was on me, sending my reaction to Ben.

“Yeah, you know what men are like. Pack-like. They want to be doing what all the others are doing. Anyway,” Jessica leaned over and made a move on the remaining chocolate buttons. “What’s he doing tonight anyway? Knee-deep in strippers, I’m taking it?”

I shook my head. “No. Of course not.”

“What? Why not? What’s wrong with strip clubs?”

The repaired good mood slipped out of our clutches once more, and my heart started thudding urgently in my throat. I reached out a toe and delicately tried to ballet hop around the landmines. “Umm, I’m just...well... I don’t think they’re a particularly...umm...great thing. And neither does Ben.”

Jessica’s nostrils flattened. “I don’t see the problem with them. Strippers make a fortune!”

“Umm, they’re actually not very safe places for sex workers. Some make OK money. Most really don’t. In fact, due to house fees, on a quiet night, they can take off all their clothes multiple times and actually come home at a loss. Plus, you know, rape culture and all that, and the links to stripper use and domestic violence. Lots of them are verbally and sexually assaulted, even with bouncers and protection, because, you know, men who want to pay money to objectify women usually aren’t the nicest...” I was parroting a lot of what Heather had said. Her voice in my head like an echo.

“What if it’s a stripper mum who needs to feed her kid?” she shot at me. “Don’t you want her to make money?”