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retro light above our booth. Our drunken scribbles looked as if a tipsy cat had stepped in a pot of ink and tripped across the page.
    ‘Read it, read it!’
    I cleared my throat, feeling embarrassed and ever so slightly sick.
    ‘Things I dreamed of being when I grew up, by Chloe Baker,’ I began. ‘Artist, ballet dancer, interior designer, Olympian, posh cake designer.’
    As in designer of posh cakes not a posh designer of cakes
, Roxy had added for clarification purposes.
    I finished with a sigh while Roxy clapped her hands rapidly in front of her chest.
    ‘Slow down, Roxy, your bra will catch fire.’
    ‘But it’s exciting, pet, all those possibilities. Don’t you reckon? I’m all tingly.’
    ‘I think that’s down to the sambuca shots.’
    She leapt to her feet.
    ‘Aye we’ve done good work today, Chloe, good work. Another drink?’
    I watched her totter across the floor towards the bar. Whereas I tended to find myself jostling for elbowroom and desperately waving a twenty-pound note at the barman in the hope of being noticed, Roxy had no such difficulty. The men propping up the bar slid apart like theatre curtains and my sexy friend stepped confidently into her rightful position in the limelight. Vik greeted her with a bottle of Prosecco in one hand and a bag of her favourite crisps in the other. Feeling another wave of depression wash over me, I shuffled on the seat. The worn leather cushion seemed to sigh beneath me as I looked at the list that Roxy had no qualms about classifying as a good day’s work.
    The pub door opened and a chilly wind blew empty crisp packets under my feet.
    ‘Chloe, I came as soon as I could. You poor thing.’
    I was enveloped by the protective hug of our third musketeer, Heidi.
    ‘Can I do anything, Chloe pet? How dare they fire you? Do they not realise you are the best asset that company has? Honestly there is no loyalty these days.’
    She hugged me again like a giant panda and I sank morosely into her voluptuous bosom. If I was the sensible child of the group and Roxy was the troublemaker, Heidi definitely played the maternal role. It had been the same way since school and her support had filled a gap for Roxy whose mother was a rarely sober party animal who disappeared sometimes for weeks at a time. My own mother was present in body but rarely in spirit, which was usually floating on a cloud of dope. Heidi was an occupational therapist who, when she was done caring for people at work all day, spent her spare time working in a charity shop and caring for everybody from us, to her family, to her neighbours and the local stray animals and hoodies (in no particular order). She dreamed of being a life coach but didn’t rate herself as special enough. As far as I was concerned, Heidi didn’t need a qualification to certify what she naturally was. I relaxed into her arms.
    ‘Thanks, Heidi, I’m so glad you came.’
    ‘Well of course, of course.’
    She flung off her tartan coat and pulled off a fluffy red beret to reveal her black and red hair that stuck out at every conceivable angle. Clasping my hand between two woolly mittens, she sat beside me and peered into my eyes with a genuine expression of heartfelt concern.
    ‘You poor girl, it’s just terrible. I cannot believe it, really. You loved that job. You worked so hard.’
    I was soothed by her soft accent and at the same time felt the tears well up in my eyes.
    ‘I did love my job. I know that sounds sad but it’s true. It was my life and now I just don’t know what to do.’
    ‘You’ll get another job, that’s what you’ll do. A better one and you can shove it up their… whatsits. The silly men.’
    ‘They’re bastards that’s what they are,’ said Roxy, bending down to kiss Heidi on the cheek, ‘I’ll get you a glass.’
    She wiggled back to the bar, shouting over her shoulder, ‘Show Heidi the list, Chloe man. I tell you Heidi it’s fucking mint.’
    After one more bottle of Prosecco and some