I exhaled, wanting to tell him more stories about Miss Diana and the Rockettes and their big fluffy topknots. ‘I got good marks at school, so I went to uni, because everyone told me to, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do so I did sociology, because it seemed interesting. And then I got a job at this social research company.’

I caught the question on his lips.

‘Advertising,’ I explained. ‘Sort of. Market research for the social media generation. I worked on demographics and social segmentation.’

His eyes found mine, faintly amused.

‘God, I don’t even know,’ I said with a laugh, stubbing out my cigarette. ‘My job description was just a page of random buzzwords. It was one of those companies you see in magazines—everyone under thirty and hot and tattooed. We did Martini Tuesdays and a masseuse would come in every second Friday.’

I touched my glass, my fingers suddenly at sea.

‘I don’t have any tattoos,’ I added, before he could ask. ‘I had pink hair instead.’

A real-life Manic Pixie Dream Girl, Lina had called me once, her voice hollow.

‘It was a long time ago.’ I looked away. ‘I was a different person.’

He turned, leaned forward, elbow on the table, head on his hand, watching me. ‘What happened to her?’

‘Life, death …’ I caught his eye, smiled. Comfortable.

Too comfortable.

‘So why did you become a doctor?’ I asked, catching myself.

Tom shrugged.

‘Come on, you have to have a reason.’

‘Honestly? My mum’s a doctor. I went to one of those schools where everyone was going to be a doctor or a lawyer or a banker. It was just what you do.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘It was an accident.’

‘No.’ He picked up his beer. ‘It was a lot of work. It still is. But it wasn’t some grand plan.’

I studied him, not sure what to say.

‘Okay, it was probably my parents’ grand plan. But it wasn’t mine.’

‘What did you want to do?’

He frowned, like he hadn’t considered it. ‘I didn’t really know. I wanted to go backpacking for a few years and figure it out. But they weren’t so keen on that idea.’

I took another sip of my vodka, steadying myself. ‘So?’ I replied carefully. ‘You could have gone anyway.’

‘Maybe, but not without their help. I could have got a bar job or something but …’ He looked at me, his hand reaching up to the back of his neck. ‘It was easier just to go to uni.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. My dad promised that once I finished my degree he’d pay for me to take a year off to travel, but by then it was all about internships and residencies.’ His hand pulled at the hair on the back of his head and I heard the hesitation in his voice. ‘And Sophie was never interested.’

‘Sophie? The ex?’

‘Yeah.’