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I shot him a filthy look. He wasn’t even watching me. He was dishing out stew like a man possessed.

I handed the cup over. ‘Sorry, I tried,’ I muttered with an attempt at a smile.

Dad and I worked through the queue, pouring teas and coffees like slightly anxious baristas as the hall filled with chatter and laughter. Steam from the hot food fogged the windows. People warmed up. And after a while, I realised it didn’t feel like a soup kitchen – it felt like a gathering. Dad and I eventually found our rhythm, pouring and serving and chatting as if we’d been doing it for years.

When the rush finally died down, Mum gave me a proud nod from across the room. Then Jamie appeared beside me.

‘We start collecting rubbish now, if you’re not too good for that, princess,’ he said, handing me a bin bag.

I snatched it off him. What a cunt. I marched to the nearest table.

‘Hi. Any rubbish?’ I asked.

‘Just her,’ a man said, pointing to the woman beside him. The men at the table burst out laughing.

‘Careful,’ I muttered, scooping up napkins. ‘I’m holding a bin bag and feeling emotionally unstable. I don’t deal well with the manosphere.’

‘The what?’ the man replied, while the woman smirked.

‘Harri?’ A voice called out from amid the chatter.

I froze.

‘Harri, over here!’

The voice was familiar.

I turned. A woman stood with her arms wide open. My eyes narrowed.

‘Lucy?’ I gasped as I recognised my old best friend standing there.

‘When the hell did you get back?’ she laughed, grabbing my face before pulling me into a hug.

Seeing her made my eyes sting. She looked the same. Same brown mousy hair. Same pale skin with a bright smile. She was just . . . thinner.

‘Last week or something,’ I said, still staring. ‘I didn’t know you came here.’

She sighed. ‘Not like every day.’ Then she shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘But you know, Christmas is coming . . .’ Her eyes flicked down to the table beside her. Two small kids were scribbling on paper, occasionally slurping their stew.

I stared. ‘Wait. Are these yours?’ I asked, feeling my earlier nerves burst into excitement.

‘Yep.’ She grinned. ‘This is Rory and Skye.’ She turned to them. ‘Guys, say hello. This is Mummy’s oldest friend, Harri.’

I crouched beside them. ‘Hi, Rory. Hi, Skye.’

They smiled at me like tiny polite adults.

‘What are you drawing?’ I asked, noticing the bright crayon marks on the paper.

Skye spun her page around proudly. ‘I’m drawing a Christmas tree because we haven’t got one this year. But Mummy says I can hang the drawing up and Santa will still bring presents.’

My stomach dropped somewhere near my ankles. I glanced at Lucy. Her smile looked a little heavier than before.

‘Well,’ I said brightly, ‘that is a brilliant idea. And it’s a very pretty tree.’

‘Thank you,’ Skye said proudly, as her small French braids swung round to me. ‘I know.’

Lucy leaned over the table. ‘And I think Rory is drawing . . . another dinosaur?’