Emma pulls Yvonne to standing. ‘Always. Are you okay? You seem distracted?’

Yvonne wants to stay in this moment and tell Emma the truth, for them to have a laugh about the coincidence and their scarily similar taste in men. But it’s embarrassing, so embarrassing that she slept with him after a few drinks, that he never called her and that this morning he struggled to remember her name. Besides, Emma’s relationships always fizzle out to nothing. What would be the point in telling?

May comes quickly and despite everyone being busy securing jobs and internships for the summer, they all make an effort to meet at the final Pound-a-Pint Night in the student bar. Yvonne and Emma have attended it religiously ever since they met at one during Freshers’ Week almost three years ago. It’s hard to believe that this will be their last. That soon they will no longer be students. Yvonne looks at her group of friends and suddenly feels nostalgic for something she still has.

Emma jumps as her phone vibrates in her lap, she squints at the screen then her face breaks into a smile. She starts finger combing her hair roughly and wipes at the corners of her mouth in that self-conscious way she sometimes does. Sweetboy has been invited along tonight to meet Yvonne, for what Emma thinks will be the first time. Hopefully he will cancel. He’s already cancelled several times before, and the one time he did show up Yvonne made sure she was on a train back to her parents’ house in south London for a fabricated family birthday.

But now there’s no getting out of it.

Of course, Yvonne should have come clean that night in The Plough as they sat drinking shitty house ale and reminiscing about all their past flings. She should have light-heartedly said, ‘Here’s a funny coincidence,’ but she didn’t. She kept silent each time Sweetboy was mentioned and prayed nothing would come of it.

Box Room Bethany is talking about the topic they can’t seem to escape at the moment, their post-university lives. The group go round and round with it, bragging about the securing of internships and further education until Emma declares loudly, ‘I’d rather fucking die than endure a Master’s degree.’ She’s tipsy. They’ve all been down here since lectures finished three hours ago and it doesn’t take much with her.

When Sweetboy arrives, it’s almost like the crowd parts for him as he swaggers over to their table. A man has never looked more pleased with himself.

Emma bounces up from her seat to kiss him. ‘Dude, where have you been?’ He pulls off his jacket and gives Yvonne the briefest moment of eye contact.

‘Everyone,’ Emma says, ‘this is Lewis.’

He slumps into the booth and slings his arm around Emma. His property. Yvonne hates that. Hates him.