‘Relax, mate,’ Ari said soothingly. ‘I’m just teasing . . . But out of interest, before we walked in just now, when was the last time you smiled, huh?’

‘It’s a bit early for your bullshit. You’ve not even had a drink yet!’

Ari looked back at him steadily. Slowly he raised his arm and, without taking his eyes off Kit, drained his glass. He didn’t wince or flinch as it went down. ‘. . . Now you.’

Kit mirrored him in stillness and mood, then drained his glass too.

There was a moment of complete silence.

Clover looked between the two of them, not sure if they were going to fight or do it again . . . She hoped to god they weren’t going to expect the same from her!

‘Better?’ Ari asked a few moments later, one eyebrow hooked.

Kit broke into a half-smile. It was still like smashing open a rock and finding the sun inside. ‘I guess it’s a start.’

‘Exactly!’ Ari laughed, shoulder-barging him affectionately. ‘Then we’d better get you another!’

Clover felt the room brighten. Even Johnny’s shoulders dropped as he put on the Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper album. Clover had to physically bite her lip to stop herself belting out ‘It was twenty years ago today . . .’

Ari dragged over the beanbags and they all collapsed into them, gathered in a semi-circle around Johnny as he trawled through the archive, putting on one song after another.

‘No! I am not dancing,’ Clover kept laughing, every time a new one came on and Ari urged her to get up and dance.

‘Come on, Clover! Dance like we’re all watching – again,’ he joked, refilling her glass.

Matty came up after forty-five minutes to enquire ‘what all the noise was’. Clover wished she could have got a picture of her face as she found them all drinking and laughing on beanbags on the floor. She was assimilated into the chaos within seconds. Kit even got up to drag a beanbag over for her too, while Ari poured her a drink.

‘Hey . . .’ Kit stopped as he went to pass by the chess board. ‘Who made that move on white?’

Clover felt her smile wither and die. She saw Kit see it too and know instantly it had been her. She remembered the last time she had fiddled with the pieces.

There was a tense silence. She waited for the explosion. They all did.

‘Fine,’ he said finally, lifting the table and bringing it over. ‘You want to play? Let’s play.’

He set up a position opposite her. It was awkward; the beanbags were low-slung against the table’s height and she had to shuffle around to get comfortable and be able to sit up. His legs were splayed out around the table, hers under it; his feet extending past her as he stared down at the board to see what her latest move meant for him.