‘Look, you didn’t have to come. You’ve wasted a day’s holiday.’

‘Your Kit’s beside himself, you know. Said he’s been trying to ring you all week.’

‘I can’t … I don’t know how to talk about it.’

Beth is dressed down today. Minimal makeup; her lips are soft and unpainted. She’s wearing jeans, neat white trainers and a grey t-shirt with a simple left breast pocket. Large sunglasses sit on top of her caramel locks. She had no intention of attending the funeral. She’s one hundred per cent here for me.

‘You look weird in black,’ she says, scrunching up her cute little nose.

‘I feel weird in black. I never got the memo.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It was like I was just there to pay me respects.’

‘I’m confused. Isn’t that what funerals are for?’

‘Well, yeah, any funeral I’ve been to before. Like me Aunty Dot; or remember that nice dinner lady, Mrs O’Leary? But this one was different.’

‘How?’

‘I wasn’t a part of it. And I should’ve been.’

A cloud has shifted, and Beth puts her sunglasses on. I know she’s glaring at me though.

‘Don’t say it,’ I say, my mouth draped over the side of my glass. ‘Don’t say how I hardly knew him. I haven’t been living in cloud cuckoo land since January, Beth, I’ve been living. And so had Jack. We’d been actually living for each other, with each other, everything was about each other. I knew him better than anyone. But I feel like I’ve just paid me respects to a bloody stranger.’

‘So, come on. Tell me.’

‘Tell you what?’

‘About Jack. Pretend it’s the funeral again; pretend you’re getting a chance to speak about him. And I’ll listen.’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘This isn’t role play, Beth. This isn’t one of me GCSE Drama classes.’

‘No, but it might make you feel better, babes.’

‘It won’t.’

Beth stands and holds one finger up, indicating she won’t be a minute. I down the wine in my glass and top it up, returning a wave to a couple of fellas cruising past on a rowing boat. Beth returns with three bags of posh crisps, mature cheddar flavour, and opens them out as if she’s demonstrating origami.

‘Eat,’ she orders.

To be fair, I already feel as though I might be swaying.

‘I’ve ordered some sweet potato fries and halloumi sticks, too. Now, listen babes. Remember when you were obsessed with Robbie Williams?’

I nod and dig into the delicious crisps: so cheesy they could be actual cheese.

‘And remember how you framed that A4 poster from Smash Hits,’ Beth continues, ‘and stuck it to your bedroom ceiling—’

‘Yeah, so he was the first face I saw in the morning and the last I saw at night.’