‘The table looks good, darling.’ Patrick spoke with the public-school accent he had inherited from his years at Harrow. All that private education and training to become one of the country’s greatest sportsmen, then suddenly one fall and his rugby career was over.

‘Here’s a beer, Patrick.’ I handed him the cold bottle and gave the other to Ben. Patrick took a long gulp, swallowed half of the fizzy liquid and turned to Ben.

‘So how’s work, Ben, have you secured any gigs lately?’

Ben’s head was tilted downwards as if apologising for his height next to Patrick who was a few inches shorter.

‘Well, funny you should ask, mate.’ He gave his neck a self-conscious stroke.

I left the room. I couldn’t bear to hear Ben talk of leaving. I knew he had to do it. To stop him would stunt our future – now was when we needed to make the sacrifices. So I folded away the fear and insecurity I felt and pushed it back amongst all the other memories and feelings I wanted to forget.

I took my place back in the kitchen as chief overseer.

I loved watching Eve in action. She was no gourmet chef by any standards, nor was she a great sewer or runner or monopoly player, but what was great about Eve, was that whatever she did she made it her own. And cooking was one of those things you had to be there to witness because it was like watching the cirque du soleil, there was always a certain amount of theatrics involved. But it always came out tasting amazing in the end. I leant against the kitchen counter to get a front-row seat.

Eve and I had made a great team ever since our uni days. We weren’t a classic best friend duo, who mirrored one another’s style and looks. Eve was five foot four with delightful curves, vibrant hair and a raucous laugh that would turn heads in the university library. I was five foot ten and slim with long blonde hair. I turned heads with my looks. I wanted – needed – people to see beyond the exterior and it had only happened with three people. One of whom was in the lounge, while another was here with me in the kitchen.

Eve worked herself around the compact and bijou kitchen, and her ample hips lifted and swayed to shift past every corner and surface as though they were an entity separate from the rest of her body. There was something special about Eve that I couldn’t even put into words. I just loved her so much and wouldn’t want to be without her. After a few minutes of working the room with pots, pans and wooden spoons raised above her head, she softly said, ‘love ya, babe’ as though she knew what I was thinking while I watched her. She wasn’t just a psychologist, she was a bloody mind reader. It was just what I needed to hear. She would always be there to deliver the right lines at the right time; unprompted. It was the most uplifting feeling of joy and I would never falter in telling her how I felt back.