‘It’s true,’ I added. ‘She bought them and gave them to me. I’d put her jumper on and smoke them. They made her green out.’

Matt’s eyes flickered between the two of us. ‘I can’t decide if that’s cute or fucked up.’

‘Both, probably.’ I shrugged. Jenny hadn’t cared about Lina smoking. She’d pretended to, given her the lecture about lung cancer and some relative of theirs dying of emphysema, but it had sounded rehearsed, like she was reading from a pamphlet. And she had her own secrets. I saw her from my window sometimes, late at night, down the end of their backyard, a tiny orange glow moving up and down, a shadow of smoke. ‘It was my idea.’

Lina caught my eye again, grateful this time. Through all the alcohol, I felt a trickle of guilt down my spine, sobering me up.

Matt stood. ‘Another?’ he asked us.

Lina nodded, but I found myself shaking my head. ‘I’m good,’ I said. I glanced at her. ‘I think I’m going to head off.’

‘But you just got here.’ She pouted.

‘I’ve been here for hours, Leen.’ It felt like days. ‘I’ve just got a headache.’

Matt shrugged, turned his attention to his accountant friends.

‘I’ll walk you out,’ Lina said, sliding out of her seat. I thought of telling her no but I knew she’d do it anyway. I let her curl her arm through mine as we stood up, walk me through the pub as I booked an Uber on my phone. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

I nodded. ‘Just a bit tired.’

‘Are we all right?’ she asked out of nowhere as we stepped onto the street. I looked down at my phone. My ride was two minutes away.

I frowned, like I wasn’t sure what she was asking. Too sober. ‘Of course.’

‘We’ll do a shorter trip soon,’ she said, squeezing my hand. ‘I promise.’

‘It’s fine, Leen. It might not be the best time to go to the States anyway.’ I didn’t know why I was lying. I needed to tell her. I could just tell her. She wouldn’t care. February fifteenth. The day after Valentine’s Day. The date we’d talked about.

‘Can we still do the postcards? I love the postcards.’

‘Leen …’

‘Yeah?’

My phone vibrated. One minute. But I could tell her. I could cancel the Uber, wear the fee, tell her.

‘You okay?’

‘I’m good.’ I decided. Not now. I would tell her, but not now. ‘Of course we’ll still do the postcards. I love them too.’

‘I can’t believe you still haven’t had a cigarette.’

‘Me either.’

A red SUV pulled up on the other side of the road, and she eyed it off. ‘This you?’

I nodded, and she pulled me into a hug.

‘Coffee Monday?’

‘Always.’