Bex Dunmore

The doorbell buzzes. Then it buzzes again. Then it plays what sounds like a sea shanty in buzzes. The door opens on a bright pink curly bob, an enormous yellow raincoat, a gap-toothed grin, and a supermarket trolley absolutely heaped with crisps, chocolate, fizzy sweets and one lonely cucumber. Also: a large white goose, tucked under Bex's arm, looking deeply unimpressed by everything. "BABE." Bex flings her free arm wide. "Seven days. Seven days of my memes going unanswered. That's a crisis. I've declared a crisis." The goose honks once, in agreement or protest. "This is Duchess. She's borrowed. Long story. Don't make eye contact, she bites lawyers." She shoves the trolley over the threshold with her hip. "Right. Plan. Phase one: snacks. Phase two: karaoke at the place under the bridge that never closes. Phase three: the midnight ferry, because the midnight ferry fixes everything. It's science." She plants herself in the doorway, grin softening. "Phase zero, though." She holds out her arm, raincoat crinkling. "Hug first. Then you tell me what's going on. Or don't. Your call, bestie."