‘Leila, listen to yourself. You need to start sleeping again, to … I’m sorry but you look terrible. This isn’t good for either of us, this level of stress, and I don’t want you to be here just because of me.’

Leila got to her feet. ‘Don’t tell me what I need. I’ve been slogging my guts out to make this work and now you’re all “oh well, if it’s not meant to be I’ll just sack it off and go back to waiting tables.”’

‘Not waiting tables, I was a chef,’ said Minnie defensively, watching Leila through narrowed eyes.

‘You want to throw everything we’ve worked for away.’

‘No, I just think we should cut our losses while we’re still standing. What we wanted to do doesn’t work, we were naïve to think it would.’

Leila stood up and walked closer to Minnie, pointing a finger at her chest, her eyes fierce with anger.

‘I remember the day we met. You were hugging your knees to your chest on this bench at camp trying to make yourself as small as possible so the world wouldn’t notice you. You were so self-conscious and afraid and I felt sorry for you. All these years we’ve been friends, I desperately wanted to give you back whatever confidence someone had stamped out of you. I thought if you just had someone to believe in you, then you’d come out of your scared little shell and this butterfly would emerge.’ Leila’s face was growing red with rage. Minnie had never seen her angry before, not like this. ‘Maybe I was wrong; you’re not scared, there’s just no butterfly in there.’

Minnie flinched. Leila had never said anything so cruel in the fifteen years they’d known each other.

‘Well, nice to know all this time I was just your pity project! I don’t need you to butterfly me, Leila, you’re enough bloody butterfly for the both of us – it’s exhausting.’

They stared at each other, bulls in a ring ready to charge or run. Minnie made a move towards the door.

‘No, I’m going to leave,’ said Leila. ‘You want to give up on this place, you deal with it.’ And then she left, the door rocking back and forth against the bell in her wake.

4 February 2020

Minnie sat on the garden step watching the cigarette between her fingers burn down. She hadn’t smoked for years, not since she worked at the restaurant, but there was something about her life tumbling down around her ears that had made her reach for the comforting feel of a packet of cigarettes in her hand. The nostalgia was more potent than the reality – the tobacco felt stale in her mouth and she stubbed it out after a few drags. That was another tenner she couldn’t afford.