I hit send before I could stop myself, before I could re-read what I’d written and worry about whether it sounded too needy or too blunt or too … everything. When I looked up Holly was grinning like she knew exactly what I was doing. I was glad somebody did, because I had no idea. I exhaled.

‘Okay then,’ she said, before Nic could ask. ‘Have fun, Caitie.’

I didn’t answer, just gave her a small smile and stood up, putting the cigarette back between my lips.

One thing.

I stepped out of Sawyer’s and into the cold, looking at my phone, willing it to vibrate, to light up. The sudden burst of bravado faded as the door swung shut and I stopped for a second, trying to decide where to go. I knew I should just go home but I knew I absolutely wasn’t going to.

I tried to think about anything but the phone in my hand, stubbornly silent. Work. Holly. Nic.

Lina.

The cracks in the footpath. Broken backs.

One thing.

I put the cigarette back in my mouth, lit it, took a long drag, so hard it came out in a cough. Cancer. Heart disease. Stroke.

If you found out tomorrow that you were going to die, where would you go?

What’s the first thing you’d do? The one thing?

I’d been dying for months. Longer. Nearly two years. Known it like I knew my own name. I was going to die and I hadn’t done anything. Not one thing.

I looked at my phone. It vibrated in my hand.

Tom was standing outside when I got to his building, leaning on the glass next to the door, hands in his pockets. He wore a hoodie older than mine, but thicker, warmer, over a t-shirt, and his hair was messy.

‘Hi,’ he said when he saw me, straightening, but still keeping his distance.

My breath caught at the sound of his voice. ‘Hey.’ I took a final drag on my cigarette, dropped it at my feet.

He didn’t say anything else, just watched me, waited.

‘You weren’t working tonight?’

‘I was.’ He shrugged. ‘Earlier.’

‘Busy?’

‘Cait.’ He sounded impatient, tired. Our eyes met for a second and then he looked down, jaw tightening.

‘Did I wake you?’

He shrugged again. Guarded. ‘It’s okay.’

I exhaled, tried for a laugh. ‘So where have you been? I haven’t seen you all week. Have you found another waitress at another fancy restaurant to go drinking with?’

He didn’t answer, kept looking at the ground. Something moved in my chest. I didn’t know why I was here. I’d miscalculated but I didn’t want to fix it. I didn’t know what I wanted. Or I did.

One thing.

‘So, anyway,’ I said, maybe too loudly; it felt loud, in the silence. ‘I was thinking. Lina, my best friend …’

He glanced up, frowned.