‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t stand it if you told me to grow up.’

‘Why would I say that?’ she exclaimed.

I shifted to pour decaf from the cafetière, adding in some of the cream she’d whipped and a little sprinkle of sea salt.

‘This is so bougie,’ I acknowledged. ‘But so tasty.’

‘It’s Kwame,’ she said. ‘Every time he gets back from an LA business trip there’s something else to add to the household menu. I act like he’s ridiculous but I actually really love it too.’

I stirred the cream and watched it go from solid to liquid in my cup. ‘I suppose I thought we got to a certain age and it was all for keeps,’ I carried on, picking up my trail of thought.

‘That would be depressing,’ she replied. ‘We’re only in our early thirties. Sixty years of this being it? Treading water? No thanks.’

I sighed. ‘So why is everyone else so settled? So … on a path?’

‘Are you kidding?’ she gasped. ‘I don’t think any of us know what’s coming next. I mean, Kwame talks about starting up his own consultancy all the time, and no way can I stop him from doing that just because it’s scary. It’s his life too; he gets to reach for his dreams. But it affects me, and Bertie, and this unborn fella who I’m going to start charging rent to if he doesn’t come soon. And that’s … not ideal.’

I reached out to touch her belly. She really was ready to drop.

‘Or look at Bri – she talks about moving out of London, but I think she worries we’d all forget about her if she wasn’t six stops away on the 141. Kezza is about to give up her single, zero-responsibility days for motherhood but that doesn’t mean she won’t break down in tears every so often and ask us what on earth she’s done.’

‘But they’re all such grown-up problems …’ I said.

‘And what, yours aren’t?’

I shrugged.

‘You got left on your wedding day and are dating a man – a widower – your mother hates, plus your ex is selling your home so you need to find somewhere else to live asap.’

‘Patrick has offered me to crash at his place, but …’

She didn’t say anything, knowing full well I’d fill the conversational gap if she didn’t. I wasn’t ready to articulate my thoughts out loud yet, though.

‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘You lot have all got mortgages and husbands and children …’

‘How is that any more grown-up than what you’re dealing with?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, genuinely unsure. ‘I suppose going flat hunting and considering retraining – maybe as a counsellor, I was thinking? – is something a twenty-five-year-old does.’