‘Everyone has a Patrick,’ Adrian reasoned. ‘Someone you’ll always wonder about, imagine what might have been. You’re contractually obliged as a human. He’s the one that got away.’

‘More like a bullet dodged,’ Sumi muttered into her drink. ‘I never saw the appeal myself.’

‘He was very clever,’ Lucy answered on my behalf. ‘And he was a writer, that’s very alluring.’

‘And he was incredibly sexy,’ Adrian added as we all gave him a look. ‘What? A straight man can’t say when another straight man is fit as? I’m secure in my masculinity, Patrick was a sexy man.’

‘It wasn’t just a physical thing,’ I said, twisting a strand of hair between my fingers. ‘His writing was beautiful and he was passionate and confident and—’

‘He was horny and arrogant and up his own arse,’ Sumi corrected. ‘But then that’s always been your type.’

‘Patrick isn’t why I’d go back to being twenty-eight, anyway,’ I said, not wanting to argue about it. She wasn’t necessarily wrong, I did have a type and that type was terrible. ‘Twenty-eight is the perfect age. People stop treating you like you’re too young to be taken seriously but you’re not too old either, there’s still so much potential to do things. Or undo things.’

‘Like terrible romantic decisions,’ Adrian suggested brightly. ‘And liver damage.’

‘It wasn’t terrible with Patrick,’ I said, my voice cracking just a little. ‘Until the end.’

‘Doesn’t matter, does it? It’s the past,’ Sumi held up her hands to wrap up that conversation. ‘You can’t go back, even if you wanted to.’

‘Who would want to? We’re all killing it,’ Adrian replied. Me and the girls exchanged a look. All of us? ‘Well bloody done on getting a new job so soon.’

‘I knew she’d find something right away, she’s brilliant,’ Sumi said proudly before she leaned across the table to smile at my oldest friend. ‘But what about you, Adrian, had any more thoughts about getting one of those job-type jobs like the rest of us?’

‘Lucy hasn’t got a job!’ he protested.

‘I’m on maternity leave,’ she exclaimed, clutching her belly to protect it from his accusations. ‘You try giving people a facial when you’ve got a belly bigger than Santa’s and you have to go for a wee every fifteen minutes.’

‘Good try, Adrian,’ I said with a smile. ‘When was the last time you had a job?’

‘I work!’ he insisted. ‘I drove for Uber last year, remember?’

A shiver ran down my spine as I imagined Adrian pulling up as my Uber driver. He was the worst driver on the face of the Earth. It would be like getting into a taxi driven by Mr Bean after he’d taken a Glastonbury’s worth of Molly.

‘And I’m working on my screenplay again.’

We all groaned as one.