‘Sure,’ I said, sitting on the bed and observing her. She took her peach blouse off and lassoed it round her head. She went to throw it on the bed and it got caught in the lampshade, which she found implausibly funny. I laughed along for the appropriate amount of time, while she continued for longer and louder than was necessary. Her face fell when she caught mine.

‘Oh, come on, Nina, HAVE A LAUGH!’ she shouted wearily. Was there anything more annoying than someone so drunk they could barely stand up telling you what was and wasn’t funny?

‘I am having a laugh,’ I said unconvincingly.

‘Get another drink down ya!’ she said, throwing open my wardrobe and flipping through my clothes like pages of a magazine. I decided she was right and went to the kitchen to pour myself a whisky. I needed to smooth the edges of this jagged encounter.

I came back to find her in my black swimsuit with cut-outs revealing bare skin at the sides.

‘Love this top,’ she said, hopping up and down as she yanked her jeans on over her thighs.

‘That’s a swimsuit.’

‘Perfect.’

‘Do you really want to go out wearing a swimsuit?’

‘Yeah, come on. Upcycling. Haven’t you heard? The end of fast fashion! Austerity Britain!’ She guffawed at her own non-joke that made no sense. ‘See? You think I’m some provincial potato-head who doesn’t read the Guardian but I do read the fucking Guardian.’

I took another large mouthful of whisky which burnt deliciously as it slid down my throat.

I took her to The Institution. The last time I’d been here was on my first date with Max, at the end of last summer. Here I was again, at the beginning of this summer. I imagined going back to myself as the ghost of summer future, telling that girl in her high heels and jeans what this first online date with a man would lead to. I wondered how long she might have stayed. I considered floating this observation to Katherine then decided not to. She was at a level of drunkenness where I had to assess everything I was about to say, to work out whether she’d understand it or if the act of explaining it would be more hassle than it was worth. We queued at the busy bar while Katherine’s bare shoulders bopped up and down in front of me in time with the music.

‘Max and I came here on our first date,’ I said into her ear.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah. We got back together, by the way.’

She turned to face me. ‘What? When?’

‘That night I last saw you, actually.’ I waited for her face to register an emotion at the mention of our argument – nothing.

‘And?’ she said. ‘How’s it going?’

‘It was going great, but he’s ghosted me again.’

‘No!’ she cried. ‘When?’

‘Few weeks ago. It’s completely my fault. I’m an idiot for taking him back.’

‘Hey,’ she said, holding me by both of my arms. ‘You are not an idiot.’ I was about to be hit with a series of meaningless declarations about how amazing I was, I could tell. These drunken niceties are what these once-solid-now-flimsy female friendships relied on. They were the string that kept us connected, as thin as dental floss. ‘You are an amazing woman, Nina. No, honestly. You’ve got a great career, loads of friends, a flat, you’re gorgeous. He was very, very lucky to have known you, let alone been with you!’

‘Thanks.’

‘Right, what are you drinking? Shots? Shots.’ She leant over the bar and shouted into the server’s ear. ‘TWO VODKA TONICS PLEASE. DOUBLES. AND TWO SHOTS OF TEQUILA.’ She turned to look at me and winked, then turned back to the barmaid. ‘FOUR, FOUR SHOTS OF TEQUILA. FIVE! ONE FOR YOU, LOVE.’ The shots were lined up on the bar, along with a saucer of lemon wedges and a shaker of table salt. ‘HERE’S TO MEN BEING TWATS!’ she shouted, clinking her miniature glass against mine and then the one belonging to the exhausted-looking barmaid.

I tried to quickly catch up with Katherine’s drunkenness as we sat in a booth by the bar, gulping down our drinks.

‘So what’s actually happened with you and Mark?’ I said. ‘You seem angry at him.’

‘I am angry at him,’ she said. ‘We had a big row.’

‘When?’

‘Tonight.’

‘And then what?’

‘And then I came to see you.’

‘Does he know where you are?’

‘Nope!’ she said, popping the ‘p’ enthusiastically.

‘Should I let him know where you are?’

‘No fucking way. I never misbehave. I always do what he wants. I took his stupid surname, I moved to stupid Surrey, I go on all-inclusive holidays with his stupid friends and their stupid wives and children. He can do what I WANT for a change. And what I WANT is to make him worry I’m DEAD. That’s what I want! That’s my new favourite hobby!’ She cackled manically. ‘It used to be spin classes and now it’s making my husband worry I’m DEAD.’

‘Katherine,’ I reasoned, unsure of what to say next. It was impossible to feel drunk around her. Everything she said made me feel sober and concerned.

‘Oh my God, Nina, listen! Listen!’ The bassline of ‘The Edge of Heaven’ reverberated from beneath us. ‘IT’S YOUR SONG!’ Before I had a chance to protest, she yanked me by my hand and pulled me downstairs and on to the dance floor.

I had forgotten what a terrible dancer Katherine was. I always found this particularly endearing about otherwise very beautiful and elegant women. It might have been the sexiest thing about her, in fact – the only wonky, weird physical flaw you could find. She had absolutely no sense of rhythm and moved herself with wild, jerky abandon. The longitude of her body stayed still and stiff while her long, gangly limbs moved like cooked spaghetti flailing around a colander. She bit down on her bottom lip and would only open her mouth to sing the wrong lyrics.

‘THIS ISN’T ACTUALLY MY SONG,’ I shouted over the music as we danced.

‘WHA?’ she shouted back.

‘THIS ISN’T MY SONG.’

‘YEAH IT IS. IT WAS NUMBER ONE WHEN YOU WERE BORN.’

‘NO, IT WASN’T,’ I said, my throat scratchy from straining my voice. ‘MY MUM LIED. “LADY IN RED” BY CHRIS DE BURGH WAS NUMBER ONE WHEN I WAS BORN.’

Katherine stopped dancing and looked aghast.

‘Oh fuck,’ she said, putting her hand over her mouth.

‘I KNOW,’ I said, continuing to dance. ‘I COULDN’T BELIEVE IT.’

‘I THINK I’M GOING TO BE SICK.’

I took her hand in mine and pulled her off the dance floor as fast as I could. We rushed upstairs as she clasped her palm to her mouth, gagging as she went. As soon as we were outside and engulfed by the cool night air, she folded in on herself and vomited. I held back her hair and she gripped on to my arm. We were by a long queue of people waiting to get into The Institution. All of them laughed or grimaced.

‘Oi,’ the bouncer said. I looked up at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘New mum. First night out since she had the baby.’ I gently guided Katherine to the side of the building, on to an empty street.

‘I love you, Nina,’ she slurred, in between retches.

‘I know you do.’

‘I really love you.’

We both sat on the pavement in silence, waiting for the sickness to pass. Hiccups came in its place. I ordered us a taxi back to mine.

When we got into my flat, I had to help her up the stairs. She leant on the corridor wall for support.

‘What would you like?’ I asked.

‘Water.’

‘Okay, I’ll get you a glass of water.’

‘No, on my body!’ she protested. ‘Water all over my body!’

I’d forgotten how melodramatic people this drunk could be.

She lay on my bathroom floor and I undressed her. The overhead spotlights robbed her of all her dignity as she thrashed about unselfconsciously. I manoeuvred her into the bath, where she lay sprawled and half asleep. I held the showerhead and tested the water on my hand. When it was warm enough, I hovered it above her body and moved it from her head to her toes. She shut her eyes and gave a sweetly satisfied smile – with her dark wet hair slicked back, she looked like a baby otter. It was the first time I’d seen Katherine naked since she’d had babies. I noticed changes I could never have seen through her clothes. Her hips had expanded, magically, like a sponge blooming in water. Her tummy – formerly so taut and hard – had softened and, in one part, slightly crinkled. Her nipples were pinker and swollen; her breasts were big enough to lie down on her ribcage, whereas before they’d never touched it. She’d made two lives in that body. It was a reminder of the changes she’d been through, that perhaps I would never understand. I felt a pang of guilt.

I gave her a pair of cotton pyjama shorts and a mug of black coffee. She got into my bed and sat upright against the headboard. The shower and caffeine had straightened her out. I perched next to her on top of the duvet.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Talk me through it. You can tell me anything.’

She put the mug down on the bedside table. ‘I’m just so tired this time round,’ she said. ‘I’m so tired I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t remember what happened when I was awake and what was a dream, I can’t remember whole conversations I have with people. I can’t seem to keep Olive happy and look after Freddie. She’s taken it so badly. I’m worried she doesn’t feel safe and loved.’