‘I get a lot of time alone to reflect,’ Scout says, taking another drag and blowing a smoke ring towards the stars. She’s the only one of us who could ever do that.

‘Uh-oh,’ Joss jokes, pulling a face at me. ‘About what?’

‘Well… don’t you ever wonder if this is it? The peak point of our lives?’

‘And it’s all downhill from here?’ I exclaim. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘But we’re all around halfway through.’

‘We’re not even fifty. We’re going to be marching up mountains when we’re ninety,’ I remind her. ‘Don’t start talking like this is the beginning of the end.’

‘Exactly. We’ve still got it, right?’ Joss says and pulls a pout, looking at her reflection in the window, leaning forward to plump up her cleavage in her low-cut leather dress.

‘Don’t you ever want to do something big – that makes a difference?’ Scout asks, handing the cigarette back to Joss. ‘You know… don’t you ever think about your legacy?’

‘Your legacy will be a string of heartbroken toy boys,’ I tease Joss.

‘How exciting,’ she says. She’s recently single, having finally dumped her useless long-term partner, and has found Tinder. Scout’s face falls. She has a tendency to go all existential when she’s squiffy and me and Joss always undermine her, but we’ve gone too far and I relent.

‘I know what you mean, Scout, but personally, I’m happy. I really, really don’t want anything to change,’ I tell her, grabbing her hand and Joss’s and kissing their knuckles. They laugh, knowing how sentimental I am.

And I don’t. Right here, right now, surrounded by my best friends, I feel drunk and content. And yes, of course there are things I could improve, but on the whole, I’ve made good choices, I reckon. I’m lucky. I want my life to stay just as it is.

1

3rd January

In the room on the fourth floor of the breast clinic, I’m flipping through Pinterest on my phone, searching for new ideas for the shop, when a WhatsApp pings up from Lisa, my ceramics supplier. Check these out, it says and I open her message to see the picture she’s sent.

‘Oh, they are lovely,’ I gasp out loud, looking at the pretty batch of espresso cups she’s made with our latest floral design. I can’t wait to get back to the shop and show the girls.

I feel a glow of pride as I text Lisa back with effusive praise, and once again I thank my lucky stars that I found her when I had to outsource my ceramics all those years ago. She’s been making teapots galore for me and it’s lovely to see her hit the ground running this new year with renewed enthusiasm after our fantastic Christmas sales.

But as I send the message, I’m momentarily distracted by the vase of plastic yellow dahlias on the table which seem to throb in the shaft of sunlight coming through the slatted blind.

‘Come on,’ I sigh, tapping my foot. I really don’t have time to be here. Lorna, my business partner, has scheduled a meeting this morning with our accountant, Miles. He’s a dry old thing and I’m much more fond of him than Lorna is, so I need to be there to grease the wheels. He’s been with us forever. He even used to do the books for Dad, when Wishwells was Dad’s framing shop.