‘Shame she’s not here for this,’ said Becky, as Emma comes down the stairs. I can see her through the open door of the sitting room. She’s dressed for a lazy evening in a pair of cut-off jeans and a fluffy grey cardigan over a tiny white vest top. She pauses for a moment.

‘This banister is seriously wobbly,’ she says.

‘The whole place is crumbling,’ says Becky. ‘Anyone any good at DIY?’

‘I’ll have a look at it tomorrow,’ Rob says.

‘With your foot?’ Becky laughs.

‘With my eyes.’

‘I mean, should you be doing house repairs in your state?’

He chuckles. ‘I know what you meant. I promise, I’ll be safe.’

‘Alex, want a top-up?’ Becky pours more wine into my glass and hands one to Emma.

‘It’s Jess’s birthday next Saturday. We should do something to cheer her up.’ Becky curls up on the sofa beside Emma and Rob.

‘Good thinking. Assuming she’s free, of course,’ I say.

I don’t mention our plans to get together for a walk sometime soon. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday, actually, which is weird. She’s normally messaging stupid jokes or sharing things she’s seen that she knows will make me laugh, although now James is on the scene that’s tailed off a bit, obviously.

‘I’m out of the loop a bit here. Is Jess okay? What’s been going on?’ Emma looks at Becky.

‘Oh her gran’s been sick, and she’s been away. Didn’t you notice?’

Emma shakes her head. ‘I’ve been so busy with work, I thought we just hadn’t crossed paths for a bit.’

It’s weird how we can all scatter for days – weeks even – without really seeing much of each other. I watch Rob chatting to Becky about how to make the perfect chilli, arguing over recipes online, debating about whether dark chocolate is the perfect addition or an abomination. Emma catches my eye and raises her eyebrows heavenward.

We watch a crappy Netflix thriller and drink more wine. I nip out to get some snacks, realising halfway down Albany Road on my way to the corner shop that it definitely feels like winter’s coming early, and a T-shirt and joggers is not enough to keep me warm. By the time I get back home my fingers and toes are like ice and the sitting room’s empty.

‘The secret’s in the chopping.’ Rob’s preparing a very late-night dish of chilli-spiked vegetables and shredded beef. Becky’s standing beside him, measuring out rice into a jug and boiling the kettle.

‘They’re doing competitive cooking again,’ says Emma, passing me the wine.

We watch and wait, drinking and chatting. They work well together, despite the constant bantering half-arguments, and at quarter to midnight – all of us pretty much completely pissed – we’re sitting down to dinner in the cosy, dilapidated kitchen.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Jess