We had been looking forward to our girls’ holiday for months. My in-laws had very generously offered their holiday villa in Puglia, southern Italy, to me and my three girlfriends while my husband was in Portugal golfing with pals.

All in our early 30s, we’d known each other for a decade after meeting on a graduate training programme for a financial company in London.

We had never holidayed together before, but we knew how to have fun and be thoughtful and caring in equal measure.

Over the years we’d helped each other through everything from break-ups to work troubles. Though none of us had children, I was married and the others were all in relationships.

Ahead of the trip, we had met up several times to excitedly plan our itinerary. Over the course of ten relaxing days we would hire a boat, visit a vineyard and various beaches, as well as relaxing in the incredibly beautiful five-bedroom villa itself, complete with marble floors and a huge swimming pool.

With high-flying careers and busy lives, we were all desperate for a break. But what began as a fun-filled holiday, comparing tan lines and swapping delicious gossip over Italian wine and gelato, suddenly took on a darker tone.

On the fifth day, I got a call that changed not only the dynamic of our Italian jolly, but would go on to destroy our friendships entirely. Just like the plot of the BBC’s drama Two Weeks In August, in which a group of university friends travel to Greece for a break that turns toxic, I was to learn that nothing exposes the cracks in friendships more than a holiday together.

It was after a chilled day at the beach that my mum phoned to break the news that Dad had had a stroke. At 68, he was fit and healthy so it came as a massive shock to be told he was in intensive care.

Though Mum was adamant I enjoy the remaining half of our break because Dad was being well looked after, I was still shaking and crying when I put the phone down.

You might imagine my friends immediately rallied, pulling me into a comforting group hug, urging me to book a flight to be with my parents. But Francesca and Cleo made an astonishingly cruel accusation that I was bringing down the mood of the group.

‘It’s not like it’s a heart attack!’ said Francesca, before flouncing off ahead.

I was blindsided by her cold, uncaring reaction which didn’t seem in keeping with her usual personality. Only Rosie put an arm around me and offered words of comfort.

I tried to put on a brave face and still went along for dinner in a local restaurant as planned. There, Mum messaged to say that Dad was suffering with slurred speech and paralysis of his limbs down one side and would require months of rehabilitation, news I tearfully relayed to my friends. ‘Can we just not talk about this while we’re on holiday?’ snapped Cleo, adding that I should save my worries for when I was back home in London.

Stunned at their insensitivity, I ran to the bathroom in tears, followed by Rosie who told me not to pay attention.

Back at the table, it was obvious Francesca and Cleo were texting one another about me while I was sitting opposite them – one of them tapping out a message on their phone, then the other’s phone beeping immediately.

They told me I was being selfish, to which Rosie chipped in: ‘Don’t you think Laurie could do with some support not judgment?’

‘She’s ruining the vibe of the holiday!’ they chimed.

I went to bed feeling upset, angry and confused, not to mention extremely worried about Dad. The following day, as we stepped on board the boat we’d hired, Cleo said: ‘Today’s a new day, let’s make sure we’re all happy, ladies!’

Back at the villa, I walked in on her and Francesca talking about me in the kitchen, saying I was ‘attention seeking’.

Too upset to speak, I broke down, not that I should have expected any sympathy. On the contrary, my tears were met with sighs and eye rolls.

Thankfully, Cleo was flying back to London for a wedding a day earlier than the rest of us – and Francesca announced she had decided it was best if she changed her flight to go home with Cleo.

Who was I to argue? I felt they absolutely should clear off, given they were staying for free in my in-laws’ home and treating me so appallingly.

Francesca even texted me from Brindisi airport to say that I clearly didn’t care about our friendship because I’d not messaged to wish her a safe flight. The irony!

Neither of them ever messaged to thank me for the holiday, or ask after Dad. Instead, Francesca sent me a WhatsApp to say I’d completely ruined her holiday. I didn’t even bother to reply.

And I’ve not had anything to do with her or Cleo since.

For months afterwards I doubted myself, questioning whether I had put a dampener on the girls’ trip, or been too sensitive to their comments.

Now I can see it for what it was: one week in Italy that turned toxic because our friendships were fake all along.

Laurie Cripwell is a pseudonym. Names and details have been changed.

As told to Sadie Nicholas