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‘There’s always one guy writing a screenplay.’

‘It’s usually about a hitman with feelings,’ Molly said.

Ashley snorted into her coffee.

The waiter arrived with Molly’s latte and set it down between them.

Ashley gave it a look.

Molly caught her. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘No, what?’

Ashley glanced at the cup.

‘The milk’s slightly over-textured.’

Molly stared at her. ‘You can tell that by looking at it?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s insane.’

‘It’s my job.’

‘It’s my job too, and I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.’

Ashley smiled despite herself. ‘See those bigger bubbles around the edge?’

Molly leaned forward obediently. ‘Ummm… No?’

Ashley tutted.

‘You’re making this up,’ Molly said.

‘I’m not.’

‘You are. You’re like one of those wine people who says they can taste oak and cacao beans.’

Ashley grinned at her. She took another look at the cup. ‘The pour’s off too.’

‘Oh, for god’s sake,’ Molly said with a smile.

Ashley laughed.

‘You’re a handful, aren’t you?’ Molly asked, delighted.

‘You better believe it,’ Ashley replied.

And Ashley, who didn’t believe in destiny and never had, felt like something was happening that was supposed to happen.

Twelve

Now

Three days later, Molly was staring at a half-eaten bowl of soggy Crunchy Nut cornflakes.