It had shaken Bessie, talking to the woman who used to be her very, very best friend in the whole world. Hearing her voice had been enough to take her back to a time and place she’d rather forget, the memory of her physical and emotional trauma only ever one thought, one scent, one memory away. Pulling down the sun visor, she looked in the little mirror and ran the tip of her index finger over her top lip to remove the small lines of lipstick from the tiny tributaries around her mouth. With her usual dull feeling of regret, she stared also at her teeth, her pride and joy in times gone past.

Pulling into the car park a little late, Bess looked up through the windscreen of her ancient little Nissan at the dated exterior of the pub. The blue-grey paint was peeling on the wooden fascia, the word carvery was missing its second ‘r’ and, yes, Michelle was right, it was grotty. She pictured the grand facade of the Glade Hotel and felt a roll of hunger in her gut that had nothing to do with food. It was the same feeling she had carried as a teenager – wanting something more, but without understanding how to grab it or even what it was she wanted exactly. A low hum of dissatisfaction that made her ask over and over, Is this it? Bess recalled the way her neighbour had looked at her ravenously. It was flattering and stitched a small patch on the tatters of her self-confidence. She shook her head; a nice lunch with her parents and a catch-up on her birthday was the whole point. They didn’t need fancy-pants surroundings, no room with a view of the park and champagne, and they didn’t need the sparkling sea and a gold bloody Rolex on their wrists to have a nice time, did they?

With her bag over her shoulder, Bess pushed open the swing door and inhaled the stale scent of neglect: damp mixed with fried food and sweet sloshes of syrupy booze that had no doubt permeated the luridly patterned carpet. She spotted her parents immediately, sitting side by side at a table in the corner in front of a flashing quiz machine. Apart from a few men propping up the bar, they were at one of only two occupied tables in the place. She knew midday was a little early for lunch and hoped the pub might fill up a bit, knowing it could only add to the atmosphere, which was sadly lacking.