‘Who knows? Although, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s not Conor’s choice that bothers him. What gets to him is the notion of his best friend having a “career”.’ Tess made air quotes with her fingers. ‘Tom can be a restless character, and he hates the idea of his friends becoming settled. He wants everybody to be a drifter. Like me,’ she added, her voice low.

After she’d lost her secretarial work, Tess had resolved to take the first job she came across. The following morning she’d spotted a ‘help wanted’ sign in the window of a nearby burger place. That evening, she’d started work. ‘It’s just to tide me over,’ she’d said. Nina worried that she wasn’t showing any interest in moving on. Yes, she was having a great time at Wonder Burger – ‘Basic wage, maximum crack,’ as she put it – but, in less than a month, the rest of them would be returning to Dublin. She needed to secure something better. She also needed to find new flatmates; people who were able to afford the rent, not come-day-go-day types who were happy to bed down but unable or unwilling to pay the bills. Nina had tried saying all of this. She’d been met with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘Tomorrow,’ Tess had said, like a Kilmitten Scarlett O’Hara.

All the same, there were times when Nina envied her friend. More often than not, Tess fizzed with enthusiasm. Even the tiniest thing, like the fabric shops near Shepherd’s Bush Market, made her beam with pleasure. Nina would find herself thinking, Where does that joy come from? It wasn’t that she didn’t like London, more that she found herself noticing its fissures and joins. Every morning, she got the tube to work. She studied her fellow passengers, the dreadlocked boys and big-haired girls, the cut-off Levi’s and boxy suits. She inhaled the patchwork of scents, the Dewberry and Old Spice and sweat. And she tried to feel part of it. Before long, though, she’d be distracted by the graffiti and grime. She’d be struck by the ugliness of a tower block or she’d find herself gazing at the men who lived in cardboard boxes, too many of them Irish.

It’s a wonderful city, she’d think, but it’s not for me.

Conor and Tom were at a soccer match. Fergal, bored with Kilmitten stories, had abandoned them for his girlfriend’s flat. A Roscommon-born nurse, she was trying to persuade him to leave college and stay in London. Later they were all going to a party. ‘Some Irish guys living near Goldhawk Road. That’s as much as I know,’ Tom had said.

Tess put aside her nail polish and lit a cigarette. ‘I wonder what your old man would say if he could see us now.’