"Come on," I said to Jessica, who was where I'd left her. "Let's get out of here."

We began walking along the South Bank, downriver. The Thames was high, its thick, brown waters roiling and churning in the wake of the many boats that sped or chugged along it. A bitter wind was blowing and we both hunched into our coats. We wandered into the West End. We walked aimlessly for a while and found ourselves drifting onto New Bond Street.

"Oh, my favourite boutique's up here," I said. "Do you mind if we have a quick look?"

Jessica shook her head. She was looking at the windows of the shops with an odd look on her face, a look that was blank and hungry at the same time. Daylight was fading now and the lights in the windows looked extra welcoming, a soft cosy glow illuminating the wares within. We reached the door of my favourite shop and I pressed the buzzer.

"It's Maudie Reynolds," I said to the assistant. "I'd like to have a look at your new range, if that's okay?"

Inside, the chilly saleswoman thawed and greeted me by name, something that made Jessica's eyes go wide, to my secret inner amusement. I'd shopped here so often I'd opened my own account.

"It's just so much easier," I explained, wondering if I was trying a little too hard to justify myself.

“What was that, madam?” said the saleswoman.

“Oh, nothing,” I said. I waited until she’d moved away and then rolled my eyes at Jessica, to make her giggle.

There were at least three dresses that I immediately wanted. I made a beeline for them and then hesitated. It felt odd, somehow, indelicate, to be spending money on myself in front of my best friend. She was standing by a glass-topped drawer of jewellery, necklaces and bracelets and rings in delicate, filigreed platinum, laid out in tempting rows on white velvet underneath the glass.

"Nice, aren't they?" I said, coming up beside her.

"They're lovely," she said. Then she leaned in and spoke in a murmur. Her voice stirred the hair by my ear. "A lovely price too."

"Oh well," I said, a little uncomfortably. "I suppose so."

"Nice though," said Jessica. She squeezed my arm and then went to move away.

"Do you want one?" I said, blurting out my request. It took me by surprise but the second I'd said it, I could see I'd surprised Jessica more.

"You what?"

I pointed. "Do you want one? One of those?"

She came back to the cabinet and looked down, then looked back at me. I could see both incredulity and suspicion competing for control of her face.

"What do you mean?" she said, frowning.

"I mean, do you want one?"

She looked at the cabinet again. "Well, of course," she said, "But - "

"Because I'll buy you one," I said, my words rushing over one another. "I mean, I'll buy you one. Whichever one you want."

She looked back at me. "You'd buy me one?" she said, and her tone was wondering. "You would?"

"Of course," I said. I could feel the smile stretching my face. It suddenly seemed like such a stupid little thing, a gesture I should have made a lot earlier. "Call it - call it a welcome back present."

She started to laugh then. There was still a wondering note in her voice and her eyes didn't leave my face. She was looking at me like she'd looked so intensely beforehand, when we hadn't spoken, when she'd just been a figure in the street, but the message beaming from her eyes was so different. She looked... happy.

"That's very kind of you, Maudie," she said, quite formally but with a bubble of laughter still trapped in her throat.

"You're welcome,” I said, and this time I squeezed her arm.

She drew in her breath when they put my credit card through the till reader and the price came up, but I waved her away. "It's a gift!" I said. "Don't worry about it. God knows I owe you some birthday presents- "

Even outside in the street, her hand kept straying to her pocket, where she'd put the little velvet-covered box. I was touched. I wanted to buy her something else, to see that look of happiness on her face again, but thought I'd better not. Not until next time we met, anyway.

"You're very generous, Maudie," she said.

I shrugged, a little embarrassed as I always was when people mentioned money.

"Well, I suppose it's easy to be generous when you've got money."

  "Hah," said Jessica. "You'd think that would be the case, wouldn't you?”

We walked on a little further.

"Isn’t that the case?" I said.

   "Nope," she said. "People with money who are generous are rare. The tight bastards are more usually found."

“True.”

“Except for Angus,” she said. “He wasn’t tight.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“No, that he wasn’t," I said. I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "That’s one thing he wasn’t.”

A crowd of school children swarmed around us briefly, speaking French. We watched them walk and run down the street.

“He lied to me, Jess,” I said.

She glanced warily at me. “Who did?”

“Angus. And Aunt Effie – remember her? They all lied to me.”

“They did?”

“Technically, they didn’t,” I said. I could hear myself, as if I were listening to someone else speaking flatly. “They withheld information, I think is the term. It comes to the same thing, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

I hesitated for a second. It hurt so much to even think of the words to use. But I did use them. I told her what Aunt Effie had told me. As I finished speaking, I could feel the tears start to come.

Jessica grabbed my arm. “Don’t cry,” she said. “You’re always crying and what good does it do?” I looked at her, startled out of my misery. “Get angry, Maudie. Stop being so passive.”

“What?”

“Crying never gets you anywhere. I know that. So people treat you like shit – are you just going to sit there and take it?”

I stared at her, taken aback.

“Are you?”

I felt my shoulders slump. “Probably. I don’t know what else to do.”

She remained with her hand on my arm, staring at me. Then she stepped back. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” I said. “I just – oh, I don’t know–”

I had the sense she was struggling not to say more. She opened her mouth and shut it again.

     "What is it?" I said.

     She held her breath for a second and then let it out in a sigh. "Nothing," she said. "It's nothing. It's just-" She hesitated again. "It's just - I'm sorry, Maudie."

     "Sorry?"

    "Yes, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry you're upset."

     There was another moment of silence.

Jessica lit a cigarette and, as she spoke, wisps of smoke trickled from her lips. “There’s a bar, in Hoxton, on Shade Street. It’s off Old Street - it’s called the Sticks Bar. Can you be there tomorrow night? Eight o’clock?”

“Of course.” I said it too quickly, almost talking over her.

“It’s time for my story now.” She said it again, almost too quietly for me to hear. “Yes, it’s time for my story now.”

I felt a leap of something; fear, anticipation.

“I’ll be there.”

She regarded me for a moment, without speaking. Then with a quick sharp nod, she turned away. I watched her walk away from me down the street, before the crowds swallowed her up.