‘Listen, guys, I’m just going to pop to the loo, OK? I’ll leave you two to fight this one out.’ She had never moved faster in heels.

About an hour later, as the conversation she was in drifted to a natural halt – there was only so much you could say to people you didn’t really know that well – Siobhan began to gather her things. Coat on, guitar picked up from behind the tiny sound booth, and she scanned the room for Clio, who was leaning against the bar, looking tired.

‘You’re not going? No no no, you’re not going. We’re going to TALK. I never see you. We’re going to talk.’

The words slurred; the insistence of a melancholy drunk. Siobhan found herself shunted into a booth and they crashed their stiletto-weary limbs down together on a sticky leather seat.

‘So, how you doing, birthday girl?’

‘Taking stock, Shiv. I’m taking stock. You will too when it comes for you, this one. The big five-oh. I’ve been in forward motion, Shiv. All my life. I’ve seen other people fall down along the way and just kept pushing on. I mean, I’m not saying it’s led to the success you’ve had, but I can see it. A long clear line through my life, push push push, don’t stop. Like, what are those things they put on horses, to make them focus?’

‘Blinkers.’

‘Blinkers. It’s not that I’ve had some brilliant career or that this line has even been a straight one, you know? Just that I’ve never lost that focus. I’ve never settled for anything I didn’t feel was right. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have.’

Siobhan looked at the clock above the bar, committed herself to missing the last train home.

‘But you didn’t, and that makes you you.’

Clio was in full surge now, words vomiting from her almost before she could shape them.