Here I am, handing out cigarettes from a pack I have bought myself. Tonight we’ve all agreed to take up smoking. No one wants to be a spoilsport. Men do the real smoking, of course: they have special rooms laid out for this purpose, rooms we are never allowed in, gentlemen’s clubs, with all the newspapers with all the important news and the leather furniture and the lack of noise, the noise of women shut outside finally, with those tall ashtrays you see in retro television series in which the overworked office clerk finally gets to fuck the office secretary. If she behaves, eventually, she’ll have a career. There is hope for everyone in the free world!

A small cloud follows us as we light up, out of the door and into the street, where our eaux de cologne and celebrity fragrances begin to lose their battle with the atmosphere. We link our arms, taking over the width of the pavement. We’re still smoking, so when one raises a hand to take a toke the whole chain shakes, like a vine heavy with fruit and flowers, the pendants jangling on our bracelets. We take big puffs, hold the smoke in our cheeks, mimic blowbacks without touching lips, so as not to spoil our lipstick. It’s our girl Alanna’s big night so we’ve fitted her cigarette on a black-and-white mouthpiece. She’s cutting circles before her, like an orchestra conductor, sashaying, left leg, right leg, heel first, click click, swan tonight, duckling tomorrow. But don’t worry about tomorrow.

‘We may be dead tomorrow,’ says Mona.

Emmy and Bex turn around simultaneously, metallic superheroes in all that glitter and fake gold and they look old and sad for a moment, under this particular streetlight.

‘Just me, it is possible, a bit before the rest of you girls,’ Mona says. We all laugh. We aren’t afraid of death. I shake my head, left and right. Tonight, death is only a notion. Look straight ahead. No tears, not tonight.

It’s our girl Alanna’s big night.

It’s going to be fucking BRILLIANT. Our eyelashes are glued safely on both sides. We pushed them in with a cotton wool bud until we saw white, and then flashing stars and diamonds when we opened our eyes again. We helped each other out. The glue is holding. A girl’s best friend never leaves her best girl alone. Our make-up stays on. Of course Alanna will still be our friend after she gets married. Let’s worry about that tomorrow.

The others are meeting us at the venue later. So far the night is ours: we are the inner circle. It’s us. We are the girls. We walk under the violet glowlights leading up to the entrance, skip the queue. ‘Girls don’t pay,’ says the bouncer, and it suits us.