Boyfriend? Boyfriend! Bessie put her hand over her mouth, in part to stop all the unfair and judgemental words rooted in jealousy from spewing out of her mouth, but also because she feared she might throw up again. Boyfriend . . . She had hoped that tonight would be the night she and Lawrence went official, had visualised the moment, made mental plans, leaping ahead towards a future that had felt within reach. She had imagined introducing him to Nanny Pat and Grandad Norm.

Michelle’s expression was one of confusion. ‘I don’t understand, Bessie! We agreed earlier we’d never let a boy come between us, just this morning! And you said you needed to think about what to say next, that was all! The whole discussion.’ Her palms were upturned, beseeching.

‘Yes! Because I had stuff I wanted to say on top of that, and I needed time to figure out how to say it,’ Bessie sighed.

‘What, am I psychic? So go on then, say it now.’ Michelle folded her arms, her stance resolute.

‘Well, not now! There’s no point. There’s no bloody point.’

They stood in silence, only metres apart, both quiet as the air cleared a little and the warm summer-night breeze whipped over them. Bessie didn’t have the first clue how to navigate this situation. Her brain was still a little addled by alcohol and her emotions were bruised. She was hurt, angry, upset, humiliated, but this girl was as close to her as family. Her stomach felt sore with the agony of the interaction and her head ached; she wished she could rewind time and start over. This was Michelle, her Michelle – how in the world had it come to this?

‘Are you going to let a boy come between us?’ her friend asked, with the suggestion of a sob to her words.

‘No, Michelle, you are.’

‘How can you say that to me?’ Her friend wiped her eyes. ‘I’ve always, always, put you first, Bessie. You have been my very best friend in the whole wide world ever, ever.’ Her voice was small. ‘And you can’t punish me because I’ve fallen in love with someone. It doesn’t work like that! It’s mean.’

‘In love?’ This was the part of the conversation that stuck. The final blow. Bessie found it hard to form words in her head that were not wrapped in despair. ‘You’ve only known him five minutes!’ she shouted, hiding her desire to scream.

‘Keep the noise down, please!’ Mrs Hicks, who lived next door, leant out of her bedroom window.

‘Fuck off, Mrs Hicks!’ Bessie instinctively spat the words in the old woman’s direction – she, Bessie, who had been raised to always say hello and goodbye and please and thank you and to do so with a smile. It was uncharacteristic, thrilling and devastating all at the same time. She felt sick.