The wrinkles between the woman’s eyes fold further into her face as her brow furrows, and then she says it, just as Chloe knew she would.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, you just reminded me . . .’

But before she can finish her sentence, Chloe has rung the bell and the driver is slowing down. She runs down the stairs. Gets off the bus. She stands still at the bus stop. Her heart hammering against the inside of her coat.

It’s only when the bus pulls away and she sees it indicate left at the end of the road that her breath escapes her.

She looks around, not recognising this residential street where she has been dropped off. She has no choice but to wait for the next bus, so she takes her phone from her pocket and, with shaking hands, texts Hollie to let her know she’s going to be even later.

If truth be told, Hollie is the last person Chloe wants to see. And yet, she is the only person. As her best friend – as her only friend – Chloe knows she can see from her face something is wrong even as she approaches the table in the cafe. She is the one person who knows Chloe, really knows her, so well that she can’t fake it.

Hollie pushes her chair back and stands up as Chloe approaches.

‘What’s happened?’ Hollie asks.

It’s not that Chloe isn’t grateful for the concern written across her friend’s face, but she knows what’s coming next. What always comes next.

‘Is it Nan?’

Chloe shakes her head.

‘Well then, what? Chloe, you’re shaking.’

‘Just give me a second to sit down,’ Chloe says.

The cafe is not long from closing, and around them staff wipe down the last plastic tablecloths and stack chairs on top of empty tables. Her friend has seen her like this before, of course she has – she’s perhaps the only one – but Chloe needs to think, she needs to recompose herself. She can do this, she knows she can.

‘Shall I order you a drink?’ Hollie says, reaching for her arm across the table.

Chloe nods.

Hollie walks over to the counter and Chloe’s head falls into her hands. She looks up a moment later, gazing outside of the cafe and its steamy windows, at people bustling by. She’s looking again for that face in the crowd. She tells herself the woman has gone, that she’s on a bus heading in the exact opposite direction from where they are now. She even knows where she is heading, which street, which house, she can even remember the colour of her curtains. But she needs to be absolutely sure, she can’t relax. She’s hot. She takes her coat off, then pulls it back up over her shoulders.