God, I’m so tired. This is a show. An utter show. Who are these people? I wouldn’t even follow them on Instagram. Even Ross, for all his depressive pleasantries and remembering to buy me a bevvie: he didn’t even bother introducing me to the group.

‘I’m Chloe,’ I remind Ben for the third time. ‘Jack’s …’ Partner? Girlfriend? Ex? What am I?

‘Aha! Got it. We all thought Jack would never settle down after breaking Florrie’s heart. So what was your trick? Your magic spell?’

‘Wait – he broke her heart?’

‘Shattered it. Told her he loved her, wanted to marry her. Slight problem, though. He was high as a kite on disco treats at a festival in Bath. Dressed as a pirate, I recall. We all were. Ah, those were the days.’

I bet.

‘They were on-off childhood sweethearts,’ Ben elaborates, ‘and Florrie had Jack on a pedestal. Fuck, we all did. Fucker,’ and he chokes up a little. ‘But she really loved him. And Jack loved her, although not in the same way. I think he battled with it, if I’m honest; wished he felt the same, you know? But when the eyepatch came off and the comedown kicked in, well – he tried to put an end to it.’

‘Tried?’

‘Her response lacked finesse, shall we say? She refused his request. I mean, their parents used to go on holiday together; the expectations were high. So Jack went about it all in a … different way.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Started seeing somebody else.’

‘Whilst continuing to see Florrie?’

‘Actually, he started seeing people. Plural. Playing the field, as the saying goes.’

‘Behind the poor girl’s back? The fucking rat!’

‘Yikes. Feels creepy speaking ill of the dead like this, don’t you think? Look, we were young,’ Ben reassures me. ‘Jack was an idiot. But there were – and always are – two sides to the story. Florrie never did herself any favours. She refused to read the signs. Anyway, she caught him—’

‘Stop. I don’t need to know the ins and outs.’

‘Jack never forgave himself, you know.’

‘Well, you can’t choose who you love,’ I say, unsure of who I’m defending.

‘True, true. And Jack was ever so aware of that after hurting our Flozza-belle.’

The MC interrupts us: the second half is about to commence. Ben sits, attentive; a pupil after a gold star. Since I don’t have a seat, I’m able to make a French exit.

Passing through the bar, I spot Ross nursing a pint.

‘Leaving, mate?’ he asks. ‘I sort of threw you to the lions, didn’t I?’

‘Yeah. Look, is Florrie alright?’

‘She’s fine. I’ll be taking her home in a minute.’

‘Oh, good. She seems—’

‘I’m used to it, mate.’

‘Right … I just wanna know, did she, erm, how can I put it? Did she ever get over Jack?’