‘I can’t work Google Maps, you know that,’ I say, only half joking. Whichever way I start walking, I always end up going the wrong way. It happened the other day at work when I was supposed to pop out to a bookshop near the office. Fifteen minutes later, I’d walked in a circle and still hadn’t found it.

‘That is so not my point, and you know it.’

Gen takes a sip of her coffee and narrows her eyes slightly, in that way she does when she’s convinced she’s right about something. I don’t say anything.

There’s a pause. I stand up and look around the little kitchen, and Gen spins round on the chair again. A couple of times she opens her mouth to speak, and then – uncharacteristically – closes it.

‘Gen?’ I sit back down, looking at her. ‘What’s up?’

She rubs her finger and thumb together. It’s an anxious habit she’s had as long as I’ve known her. Before a performance on stage, she stands in the wings doing it unthinkingly. I look down at her hand and up at her face. She realises what she’s doing and lifts both hands up in a gesture of confusion.

‘It’s Soph. This wedding stuff. The baby stuff. All of it.’

Sophie’s on the verge of something called the two-week wait. Apparently, it’s something to do with waiting to see if her and Rich’s attempts at getting pregnant have been successful. Our group chat has become a little bit . . . medical, these days.

‘You mean you don’t want to know how many times she and Rich have had sex?’ I say.

Gen makes a slightly disgusted noise. ‘No. I love her, but she’s treating this exactly the same way she treated exams at school, and it’s a bit TMI. And she’s obsessing over wedding dresses and it’s like there she is, on the verge of becoming a Proper Grown-Up. And I feel a bit shit. I’m living in—’ she waves her arm, indicating the converted club manager’s office that is her kitchen ‘—well, in this. Still hoping for my big break, still scrabbling to survive from one month to the next, still having to tap my parents for money when I’m skint and with credit cards up to my eyeballs.’

I totally get it. Admittedly I can’t tap my mother for money, because she’s always been skint and – oh God, I’ve just realised it’s Mother’s Day at the end of the month. I must check and see if it falls before payday. She’s going to expect flowers, and wine. Mainly wine. I wonder if she’d mind if I skipped the flower bit.

I remember we’re talking about Sophie. Now there’s someone who likes things just so. Always has. If she has children, she’s going to be calling Interflora to make sure they send reminders a week before every occasion.

‘Soph’s always been like that, though,’ I say.