The question landed on me in the seconds that I turned round to face him, with a heavy plate of food balanced in each hand. When I saw his expression, though, both plates slipped, shattered and scattered across the floor, taking cubed vegetables and chunked meat along with them. He looked at me with an expression that I thought must be fury. Am I being dramatic in thinking that? The air started to crackle around me. But no, it’s fury – and something like disappointment. I felt my eyes prick with the promise of tears as I swallowed.

‘Rowan, I think we should break up …’

Chapter 39

There weren’t many people I could stand to speak to in the days afterwards. I’d screened calls from Fred, Monty and my parents. Fred didn’t know; Monty definitely did; my parents shouldn’t have done. Although it crossed my mind that Rowan may have tumbled into the role of bitter ex-boyfriend and outed me to everyone we knew – as being both newly single and maybe, possibly, just a bit gay – and I couldn’t decide whether it would be a blessing or curse if he had. But when neither Mum nor Dad went as far to leave a message or send a text, I decided it must have been a safe call rather than one with a motive. The only phone call I made on the night itself was to Faith – ‘I did it, I finished things’ – and she took everything from there. Within minutes the rest of the girls knew and the group chat was alive with offers of company (Molly and Cora), gin (Lily) and a night out (also Lily). Betty was disconcertingly quiet on the matter until she arrived two days later, as planned, with the rest of the girls in tow. She stepped forward and threw her arms around me the second I opened the door to them.

‘You didn’t text,’ I spoke into her shoulder. She pushed me away, and held me at arm’s length.

‘I couldn’t type anything that didn’t make it sound like I was happy.’

Faith slapped Betty’s upper arm. ‘What did we literally just finish talking about?’

Betty pulled away and reached into the bag Lily was holding, as though Faith hadn’t spoken at all. ‘We brought treats,’ Betty said, ferreting about in the bag still. ‘And I brought this.’ She turned to face me with a bottle of Prosecco in each hand.

‘Are we celebrating?’ I asked.

Molly said, ‘No,’ at the same time as Betty said, ‘Yes.’ The pair of them locked eyes, and as though sensing something in Molly’s expression Betty thought better of it. ‘I mean, no,’ she corrected herself although she sounded uncertain. ‘We’re commiserating.’ She looked around the group for support – or confirmation – but nothing came. ‘Right?’

Cora reached over to squeeze Betty’s shoulder. ‘Good effort.’