‘Next time, I get to choose,’ says Lottie as we walk into the rather crowded Royal Court Theatre bar. ‘And I’m going full-on musical theatre. You’re going to have to sit through two hours of Mamma Mia or 9 to 5 to make up for that, agreed?’

I smile. Lottie really is the light to my darkness. It was the same at university. I loved Emily Brontë, she was more Jane Austen. I liked listening to PJ Harvey – whose records Georgie had introduced me to – while Lottie loved cheesy pop. On paper, we shouldn’t be friends, but somehow we balance each other out.

‘Agreed,’ I say as we spot two vacant seats by the bar. ‘Now, what can I get you to drink?’

Lottie purses her lips. She always does this when she has a decision to make. Or, at least, when she feels she has to look as though she’s making a decision. I know for a fact that after a minute’s deliberation she will say, ‘A glass of Merlot, please.’ Her usual. The drink she always has. Yet she will still give herself a moment to weigh up the options.

‘Er … I’ll just have a glass of Merlot, please,’ she says, pushing her hand through her thick red curls.

‘What a surprise,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Dry-roasted nuts?’

Lottie smiles widely. One of the great things about our friendship is the fact that we know and understand the little things, the things that other people might not find important, but mean everything to us. I know that Lottie always drinks Merlot on a night out but has to have a packet of peanuts with it to line her stomach. She knows that I have to drink my coffee when it’s steaming hot because tepid coffee makes me feel queasy. And I know never to engage her in conversation or ask important questions of her before eight in the morning because it takes at least two coffees and a shower before her brain is able to function. Little things. Silly things, some would say. But remembering these things and honouring them is what, I have always felt, has kept our friendship going for so long. We’re like a married couple, just without all the boring relationship complications.

‘So,’ I say when the drinks arrive. ‘How was today? Craig behaving himself?’

She rolls her eyes. Craig is her colleague and desk partner at the children’s charity where Lottie works as case manager. She’d always got on well with him until last week when he got very drunk on an office night out and told Lottie he thought he was in love with her.

‘He’s been very quiet, thankfully,’ she says, taking a sip of wine. ‘Though it’s tricky when you’re sharing a desk. I keep catching him staring at me.’