‘I wanted to get something a bit snazzy this time because otherwise it’s literally just a layer of polish and what’s the point of getting your nails done at the salon if you can do the same at home? Waste of money if you ask me!’

In the washing room, Alanna enlists me to help her put her latex gloves on. She lathers her hands with the antiseptic lotion. There’s a ladybird sticker on every one of her fingernails, covered in a glossy layer of top coat.

‘You never get used to it!’ she says. ‘This shit stinks!’

Well, yes. Quite literally.

‘Bedpans coming in, hunny,’ I mumble.

She ignores me. She’s right to. What a pathetic attempt at sass. In my head, things always sound better than what comes out. Why try?

Alanna is excited because her boyfriend proposed. I almost feel like breaking into dramatic laughter when she tells me. Of course, this is unlike me: I’m no-drama. I guess we both turned out the way we were meant to. One break-up, one marriage. You win some, you lose some. Life moves on.

Alanna couldn’t wait to tell me, but she didn’t want to ring me while I was off, didn’t want to bother me, and anyway, this is the kind of thing you have to tell someone in person.

‘Am I excited for my old friend Alanna?’ she asks. She says she’s been eagerly waiting for our paths to cross, but I’d been home from work, and then our shifts didn’t match for a couple of weeks: ‘Did I get some rest? Am I feeling better?’

You want to know how I’m doing? Well, I’m not doing that great. Remember our holiday to Rome? That was the last time I was doing this badly. Sure, it’s where Neil and I met – the day I collapsed on the steps of St Peter’s – so I think I was sitting in the tiled waiting room at the Catholic hospital while you fucked him. But I got the boy, didn’t I? The man. Being with him blunted the edges, but I’ve remembered the kind of lucidity that comes from being completely empty. The body becomes more aware, develops sensitive tendrils. Look at us. Look at me now. You did the right thing in getting out early with Neil, Alanna. Why don’t you share some of your wisdom? Do continue.

I say none of this.

She’s still banging on about manicures.

‘Anyway, it’s worth saving up to get them done in gel! Shellac! What a world we live in! It’s double the money but they last double the time!’

She holds out her hands, palms upturned, synthetic talons sticking up like phosphorescent branches. I snap the gloves on her. I pull a fresh pair out of the box for myself. I take my time.