Emma had complained recently about how her idea of eating out was the café at the Tesco superstore. With this in mind Yvonne wanted to take her somewhere special, but now, sitting in the blue velvet booth of the restaurant, it feels like a mistake.

Emma twists at the necklace. It suited her outfit more than Yvonne’s. But it will break if she continues to wrap her fingers in it.

‘You look nice, Em. Stop fussing.’

She lets go and frowns at the menu.

‘The risotto is great,’ Yvonne says. ‘I had it the last time I came.’

‘Think I’ll be having the bread and tap water.’

‘I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.’

The menu slaps down on the table. ‘It was a joke. I can pay for my own dinner.’

But there’s no way Yvonne’s going to let Emma pay for this. ‘I chose the restaurant, so I’ll pay. Besides, we’re celebrating your new job.’

The waiter comes over and Emma begins her routine of flirting, asking where he’s from, what he does for fun outside of work, if he’s single. It’s embarrassing, but not in the way it used to be, when Emma would always end the night with a phone number or love bite, but because the waiter looks about nineteen and Emma, well, she’s not even thirty but there’s a weariness about her tonight. She’s thinner than usual, and maybe it’s because she layered on too much heavy make-up, or because her hair’s gone back to black, but she looks especially pale and tired.

The waiter leaves the table and Emma laughs. ‘There’s something about these Eastern European boys.’

Yvonne shakes her head. ‘He looks very young.’

‘I’ll take whatever I can get. I haven’t been with anyone in so long. It’s depressing. I think my hymen’s grown back.’

‘Emma, shut up.’

The waiter returns and puts the drinks down with flourish and Emma winks at him before he walks off.

‘This isn’t even what I ordered,’ Yvonne complains.

‘No, me neither. He is so dumb. All look and no substance,’ she says while removing a lychee from her cocktail. ‘All these pretentious restaurants are the same.’

‘Do you want to go somewhere else?’

‘We’re here now. I know how you love these types of places.’

‘You think I’m pretentious?’

‘Yes,’ Emma says firmly, ‘I’ve always thought that, even when you were poor.’