I’d agonised for weeks about what to wear, trawling through the pages of Just Seventeen for inspiration and finally deciding on red jeans, a floral body suit and a black chiffon shirt which I tied in a knot at the waist. When I stepped off the bus that morning, I instantly regretted the red jeans. I’d shot up in the year between eleven and turning twelve and the jeans brought too much attention to my long legs. What had I been thinking?

But Beth from Form 7G wanted to know where my bodysuit was from. Beth from 7G liked my outfit.

‘Tammy Girl,’ I told her. My mum had taken me shopping and treated me to a whole wardrobe of Tammy stuff for my twelfth birthday. It had been one of the best days of my life.

Beth smiled, but it was partnered with raised eyebrows and a sigh.

‘Cute,’ she said. ‘I saw one almost identical in Topshop.’

‘I love Topshop,’ I blurted, although I’d never been inside.

‘It’s the only place I shop.’ Beth took another swig of her Coke.

‘Me too. Except for Tammy Girl. Obviously, duh!’ I rolled my eyes and hit myself on the head, making Beth laugh. Her dangly earrings jangled and she twiddled the silver dolphin hanging from a fine black cord around her neck. Picking up her Benetton bag from beneath the table she was leaning against, she opened it and fished around inside for something. She pulled out a black velvet hat.

‘You’re Chloe, right?’ she checked. I nodded. Then, standing on her tiptoes, she put the hat on my head, her dainty fingers positioning it as she pouted her lips. ‘This looks sooo good on you. I’ve got a right little pin head. You can have it. Merry Chrimbo.’

In a mix of shock and delight, I struck a pose, kind of John Travolta doing ‘Stayin’ Alive’. Beth grabbed my hand and hauled me to the dance floor in the centre of the sports hall. Blur’s ‘Boys and Girls’ was playing and the whole of Year Seven was jumping up and down. When the Grease Megamix came on and most of the boys decided to go and stand against the wall, I naturally took the role of Danny to Beth’s Sandy. She invited me to a sleepover at her house the following Friday and now, twenty-five years later, here we are.

‘Let’s be flatmates,’ I suggest.

‘Y’what?’ Beth responds, half of her upper lip rising, her nose wrinkled. Anyone would think I’d burped. Or puked.

‘Well, you’d rather live with me than some stranger with a spare room, wouldn’t you?’

‘Babes, I’m getting me own place.’

‘Oh. I just thought we could help each other out – you know, have a laugh.’

‘We don’t have to live together to do either of those things.’