Evie blushed and took another sip of her drink. Her head felt fuzzy but also deliciously light. Her usual worries were no longer weighing her down. Instead, they’d been replaced by sheer anticipation for what was to come.

‘What have you been working on, Laurie? Florence says you’re a fantastically talented actress,’ said Evie, just as Florence returned.

‘She is. She’s a star,’ Florence cooed.

Laurie grinned coyly at Florence, brushing her compliment away with a sweep of her dainty hand. She went on to describe a role in an animation she’d been offered, which she hadn’t yet decided whether to accept. It wasn’t her typical gig, she said, but still, beneath her self-deprecating tone she sounded utterly delighted.

‘Animation is quite a divergence,’ Georgie agreed, grabbing a crisp from the bowl in the middle of the table.

‘What’s it called? The animation?’ Florence asked.

‘Uh, Frozen. It’s about princesses in the snow or something.’ Laurie shrugged.

‘If you said it was a murder mystery in the snow, then that, I could get behind,’ Georgie said.

‘Laurie,’ Evie interrupted, looking her straight in the eye. ‘You have to do Frozen. It’s going to be huge. I mean, I just have a feeling it will be. Which princess is it for?’

‘There’s more than one princess?’ Florence asked.

‘Laurie, you have to do it!’ Evie exclaimed.

‘I don’t think it’s really me, love. Let it go.’

Evie laughed to herself at the serendipity of those words.

‘So, are we about finished our drinks? Where to next?’ Florence asked, tipping back her wine glass.

‘We’re going somewhere else?’ Evie said.

Laurie, Georgie and Florence looked at each other and laughed conspiratorially.

‘Darling,’ Georgie said. ‘The night has just begun.’

FORTY-FIVE

Forty-five

Evie pushed open the Globe Tavern’s heavy wooden door and slipped inside, welcoming the hot air blasting from the heater. Florence, Laurie and Georgie followed closely behind her, swaying just a little. It was well after two in the morning, but the place was still pumping with frenetic energy. A group of overly jolly men were singing indecipherable songs in the corner of the room, arms draped around one another, beers sloshing in their hands. People downed shots of murky brown liquid at the bar, and several people were huddled together kissing in dark corners. That special January feeling still hung in the air. People were just returning to work after the break, their minds foggy with booze and TV, their inhibitions down from too much socialising.

The four women ordered a glass of red each before heading into the corner of the bar. Evie watched as snow fell delicately from the sky, thinking dreamily that it was just like her: she had fallen, like the snow outside, into a different dimension.

‘You know, this is where Bridget Jones’s Diary was filmed!’ Evie told the others, slurring her words. God, she was plastered.