‘I know.’ Her voice was pitched high, breathy. ‘I know. It’s just a piece of paper and the patriarchy and everything, but I just wanted to tell you. And the postcard—I was worried it had got lost in the mail, or someone else would tell you first and it wouldn’t be the same. I was so glad you messaged. So glad, Caitie.’

I picked up my beer, took a sip.

‘I miss our postcards,’ she said, still breathy. ‘I know we’re grown-ups now and maybe they’re a kid thing or whatever, but I miss them. And I thought it would be cool to, you know …’

‘It was.’ My head was spinning. ‘I was going to send one back but—’

‘It’s okay,’ she interrupted. ‘It’s fine. I know you’re busy. Your mum said—’

‘You spoke to my mum?’

Lina paused. ‘She was over at Mum’s last night. She said you were acting weird at brunch last Saturday.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I just had a headache,’ I said.

‘She thought you might be upset about the maid of honour thing.’

I shook away a rush of annoyance—at Mum, at both of them. ‘What? No, it’s …’

‘No, Cait.’ She stopped me, sat up straight, nervous. ‘Of course I want that. More than anything.’

My heart thundered into my ribcage.

‘Please.’ She looked at me. ‘Will you be my maid of honour?’

I don’t know what my face did, but the rest of me went cold, and I saw Lina’s eyes flicker.

‘You don’t have to do anything,’ she added. ‘I know you’re super busy with work and you’re not into weddings or marriage or any of this stuff. I promise I am not going to expect you to organise anything. Not even the hens’ night. Matt’s sister has already said she wants to organise that—she’s starting some sort of business, I think. You don’t even have to come to the hens’ if you don’t want to, but I promise it won’t be gross. God, not like Madi’s one last year. No-one is going to be drinking anything out of anyone’s underpants, I swear to God.’

She was talking too fast, and I wanted to stop her, but my throat had tightened up. Anaphylaxis.

‘I just want you there, Caitie. Not just there, but next to me. You’re my best friend.’ She took a breath. ‘You’re the only one who …’

‘Leen.’ I swallowed. Tried to. I’d never been allergic to anything, but anaphylaxis was the sort of thing that could develop at any time. I remembered Frannie once telling us a story about a woman who died because she developed an allergy to hair dye. The first time her scalp just itched, the second her throat closed up and she choked to death in her ensuite.