‘That is honestly so nice to hear. Thank you.’

‘He’s not always this jokey and smiley, you know. It’s a recent thing.’

‘I am really grateful, Cait,’ I say, breathing in, ‘that you’re allowing me in.’

‘I’m grateful too,’ Caitlin says. She gives me a smile.

My eyes well up.

We return our items to Fluffy-Slipper Woman, and go outside to head home. It’s clear the temperature has really dropped. We can both see our breath in front of us. I try to order us an Uber on the corner of Tottenham Court Road but it’s too busy. We walk on a bit, and I link arms with Caitlin. It’s always best to order a cab down a quieter road than risk getting piled up in a bundle of honking cars. I notice how frail her arm is; she is like a tiny Polly Pocket. She is cold, shaking slightly. We shelter under a bus stop until an Uber finally arrives, and I make him blast the car with hot air. We both stare out of the window as Magic FM plays.

When we get home, I pour Caitlin a cup of tea. I offer her a Rocky bar; milk chocolate with biscuit and caramel goodness inside. She takes it.

‘Dunk it in your tea. It melts, so yummy,’ I say, showing her the technique.

She slowly unwraps it and nibbles its edges.

After what feels like ages sitting in silence, she speaks.

‘What were you like at seventeen, Olive?’ she asks, still nibbling.

‘Oh god, that’s a question!’ I say. ‘Well, I hope you don’t mind me saying that you’re one of the most clued-up seventeen-year-olds I know … I, on the other hand, had no idea who I was or what I wanted. Truly no clue. I thought I was mature, though – now I realize I wasn’t. I was very, very self-conscious. I remember, once, I threw a footballers and WAGs party and I went as a WAG – thought my worth was based on how many boys would look at me. Now, it’s funny, but appearance is the last thing I base my value on.’

‘Must take a while to get there. To … actually … like yourself,’ Caitlin says, stirring her tea. ‘That seems like a totally distant dream to me.’ I notice she’s unwrapped but barely touched the chocolate bar.

‘Oh god, it really does. I remember – around your age – breaking up with my first boyfriend, who was so wrong for me, and just starting afresh. I love how many times you can reinvent yourself in life. You can experiment with anything.’

‘I just don’t really know what I want to do with my life.’

‘You have tons of time, I promise.’

‘People always say that.’

‘I know, it’s probably an annoying thing to say, because it doesn’t really mean anything until you’re older and on the other side.’

There’s another long pause. I hold my tea, staring out of the window, up at the very few London stars I can see.