I shift in my seat, lift Beth’s wine glass and down the last drop.

‘Same again?’ I stand, holding the glass by its stem and giving it a little wiggle. ‘Or shall I order a bottle?

‘Nope. I need to keep me head screwed on.’

I feel my shoulders slump down to my elbows. Looks like we’re not going to drink and chew the fat, then. Beth’s blown me out twice in the space of a few minutes. The wind has changed. I’m not familiar with this side of her. She’s a million miles away in her thoughts, watching the big red bus crawl past, blocking the view of the independent bookshop and the Greek bakery. She catches me staring and I offer a quick, upbeat smile. I want my friend back. I need her.

‘What you gonna do for work down here?’ Beth asks. She’s picking up her handbag, aptly made by Chloé, and about to sling it over her forearm to make an exit. ‘Your mum said you’re quit—’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, you know what me mum’s like, Beth. I’m not quitting.’

Beth rests both arms on top of her bag and with widened eyes, looks interested in what I’m saying for the first time since I sat down. She tells me to go on, but there’s nothing to go on about. I shrug.

‘But you thought about it,’ she says, ‘didn’t you?’

I give a careless laugh. It’s my turn to watch the next red bus crawl past.

‘It’s what? Two weeks before the schools go back? And you probably didn’t even think to hand in your notice or speak to your boss, did you? You were just gonna quit. Like that?’ She snaps her fingers like Mary Poppins.

‘Why are you so mad at me? I’ve still got me job! I’m going back next week.’

‘Oh, well done. Your sloppiness finally paid off.’

‘Eh?’

‘You got lucky, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah, right. So lucky, hun.’

‘You talk so much shit sometimes. Quitting, but not quitting. Worrying the hell out of your mother, treating a bloody good teaching job like it’s an inconvenience—’

‘Hold on a mo—’

‘No. This is exactly the sort of fucked-up nonsense that makes me not wanna live with you. Not because I don’t like you. I hate doing this to you, babes. I love you. But you’d move in and then, what next? Get a dog and decide you don’t like dogs? Move to France, then not wanna learn the language properly?’

My mouth is gaping open like a docile fish. I close it and try not to sulk, but God, Beth’s being a hardened bitch. She hasn’t got her fella anymore, but at least he’s alive. There’s a chance they could get back together.