Of course, it didn’t take long for the app to be proved correct. My best friend, Heather, messaged me to say she wouldn’t be able to make it that night as she’d been given a last-minute late shift at the clinic. I dropped my toast peanut-butter-side down, spilled legions of coffee over my notes for that evening, and couldn’t get through Week Five of my Couch to 5k app. After I showered off the sweat from my failed run, I found my body had swollen like proven dough. My chosen outfit, which had looked fine a week earlier, now taunted me with its clinginess. Despite my shower, my hair still had a greasy sheen to it, and hung lankly around my shoulders. I tried curling it, but burned my neck—flinging my GHDs onto the carpet, and calling them “a self-satisfied pair of cunts.” These “cunts” proceeded to singe our landlord’s acrylic carpet in retaliation, and, it was just as well I hadn’t applied makeup yet, as I actually rage-cried for a full minute.

By the time I left for the event, I’d masked my low mood and estrogen levels with red lipstick, and arranged my hair so it covered my GHD hickey. I wore an old and reliable black, long-sleeved jumpsuit and had gold heels I’d change into when I got to the venue. I was pelted with long strings of rain as I ran to the bus stop, soaked by the time I reached shelter. I checked my appearance using the selfie mode on my phone, and admitted defeat. This was just going to be a ball-ache of a day, with the event still to come.

“At least no one you know is coming,” I reassured myself, as the bus hissed its way around the corner, splashing the bottom of my jumpsuit with puddle water.

“Fern, you made it. Oh my God, isn’t the weather terrible?” Gwen, the bookshop’s event manager, met me with the standard publishing industry two air kisses.

“February is a very determined month,” I said, while my umbrella dripped onto her brogues. “Oh no, I’ve made you wet. Sorry.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t worry. Right. Sit down. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Wine? Stacy isn’t here yet.” Gwen checked her watch as she clattered over to a laden table and started putting food I’d not asked for onto a paper plate. She checked the time again as she dumped freshly cut melon onto my palm.

“Oh, right. Thank you. Umm, Stacy’s just posted an Insta story on her way here. She’s on her way from the hairdresser. Stuck in traffic by all the rain.”

Gwen twitched. “Oh, yes. OK. Have you seen the queue outside? They’ve arrived so early. They’re all going to be soaked.”