"Barbara, I love you, but if you blink again, I will kill you before you get to turn 19."

Babe holds her eyes open with fingers above and below her eye, but that only seems to fluster Caz further.

"No, no, you're gonna mess up my eyeshadow!"

By 'my eyeshadow', she means Babe's, but having done the makeup herself, Caz is taking the whole thing very seriously.

I laugh, exchanging a look with Bea and Lisa as we empty bags of ice into the drinks coolers, and I'm suddenly very grateful Caz did my makeup earlier in the night.

It's half an hour until the time when the invitation says the party starts – so, in teenspeak, at least an hour and a half until things actually kick off. Caz and I came over straight from school to help with the most vital tasks: hair and makeup, playlist selection, and, of course, snacks. The only things left to do now are order the pizzas, mix the guac and, apparently, get Babe's mascara right.

"Aaand... done," Caz finally smiles, standing back to admire her work.

She's enhanced Babe's insane natural curls with a fancy mousse, and given her a runway-worthy smize with a golden sunset eyeshadow look, completed with a pretty plain lip.

"Stunning. Absolutely stunning," I say, as a compliment to both the artist and her model. The artist flips her hair and takes a playful bow, whilst the model blushes furiously.

"You're one to talk," Babe nods at me, evading the compliment in her modest way. I smile my thanks, but she's never been the best at receiving compliments. Her cheeks flush noticeably even under the blush Caz used, and I get the sense that she's still getting used to the feeling of wearing something other than a designer tracksuit and Jordans. She's in a pretty gold beaded mini dress, looking nothing short of royalty, and as much as she rolls her eyes, we know she secretly loves the glam.

"Have you, um, have you finished picking the playlist? Did you add WAP?" Babe says, blinking rapidly as she attempts to change to the topic.

"I'll add it right now," I smile, shaking my head. I guess I'll spare her the embarrassment this once.

It's Babe's party, but technically we're all hosting together, and something about kneeling on the sofa in my dress to finalise the music while Caz perfects her highlight in the mirror and Babe gives the watermelon punch a final stir makes me think of 13 year old us, getting all excited over lunch break as we planned our grandiose futures together. Roommates, naturally. An Upper Manhattan penthouse, obviously. The three musketeers, throwing epic parties, kicking the working world's ass, and grabbing life by the bollocks. I'd almost forgotten all about it.

The thought makes me smile as I complete the playlist. My smile turns mischievous as I hit play on 'I Gotta Feeling' by The Black Eyed Peas, and Caz and I burst into laughter when Babe groans out loud at how unbelievably 2009 it is.

"Oh my God, please, no."

Bea and Lisa, however, seem to rather enjoy the ironic choice of song. The two of them cabbage patch to the rhythm with gleeful smiles, which widen when they note Babe's embarrassment.

"What?" Bea laughs, circling her shoulders with extra vigour as she asks, "You don't like our moves? Come on, this one used to be a hit!"

"Mhm, and I'd rather be hit, over the head, with a brick, than watch this any longer," Babe says, and she stands and extends her own arms to try and still their enthusiastic boogying. "Promise you'll stay in the guesthouse unless we call."

Lisa lets in, panting after giving that cabbage patch her all,

"Alright, alright, we'll remain banished for Barbara's Birthday Bash."

"We are not calling it that."

"We can call it what we like," Bea teases with a cocked brow, still cringe-dancing to her heart's content as the two leave, "y'know, since we're not invited.

Enjoy Barbara's Birthday Bash! We'll be keeping an eye on you!" Even behind the closed front door, Bea and Lisa hum and giggle together, their dancing steps crunching on the driveway pebbles as they head away to the guesthouse.

"They're the literal cutest," Caz says, reading everyone's mind. "Okay! Time for Snaps."

Caz whips her phone out and hits record with the proficiency of a girl who Snapchats as often as she breathes, and the three of us pose, pouting mockingly like Cher, Tai and Dion.

"Saaay 'Babe's Birthday Bash!'"

"Babe's Birthday Bash!" I cheese, while Babe chooses to thwack Caz in the forehead with a flick of her finger.

"Ow. Ohmygod, we're so cute. I'm sending this to D."

"Ooh, how is he?" I ask, flopping onto the sofa beside Babe. "He's coming tonight, right?"

Caz falters. For a moment, I don't recognise the emotion – hesitance maybe? – that flashes across her ever-sparkling upturned eyes.

"Uh, yeah," she answers, feigning insouciance, "he's taking the train up with some his friends, and some of the guys from school too, apparently."

There isn't anything too odd about the comfortable silence that follows, not really – except how Caz's gaze stays trained on the ground, and how she purses her lips like there's more to say.

Babe senses it, too. "Caz, is everything alright with you guys?"

"Yeah..." she starts, but her gaze is slow, unsure, "it's just that I've been thinking and... do you guys think D drinks too much?"

I imagine Dion as I see him most often: at the centre of the party, tall and perfectly put together, surrounded by his adoring fans, and wearing his charismatic grin... But now that she's asked, I picture a red cup of vodka loose and comfortable in that other hand.

"I don't know... Maybe?" I answer honestly. "I've never really thought about it – Caz, did he do something? To hurt you?"

Ever our faithful protector, Babe's brows shoot up at my implication, and her hands start to hike up her dress for battle.

"No! No! Down, girl," Caz teases, quick to allay the tension. "He'd never. I just sometimes wonder if he's not taking it too far – losing control, you know? But whatever, right?"

She shakes her head, a careless smile taking the frown's place as though she'd never had a worry to begin with. "What's a party without booze?"

With a tilted head and unsettled tone, Babe starts to speak, but before she can say a word, Caz has grabbed hold of two lipsticks and swiftly moved on.

"Onto more important matters: Babe's lipstick – are we doing a nude lip or a red?"

"Uh... what difference does it make?"

Caz rolls her eyes. "Nude says: I'm casually glamorous. Red says: I've got someone to impress tonight."

Caz's dramatization turns Babe's cheeks the rosiest shade of pink possible, and she silently but certainly takes the red shade in hand. Naturally, Caz's dramatics increase by 100, demanding the girl's name and Instagram and 'OMG, it's Lily S, isn't it? I bet it is! Or Tia!"

Babe's fighting so hard against her sheepish smile that she can't even bring herself to answer Caz's inquisition.

"Awww, you can't even say her name! I'm getting the Russian Red!" Caz sprints up the stairs to Babe's bedroom with a speed that would be impressive even without heels on, leaving Babe and I on the couch in a fit of giggles.

"So," I pry teasingly, poking her in her bedazzled side, "who's this Russian Red for, then?"

Babe shakes her head, her cheeks still flushed and eyes still wandering. "Nope. Not saying."

"Fine, fine. But I'll be on my Sherlock Holmes tonight to figure it out. And you know Caz will be, too."

"Oh, I know. You two are a secret's worst nightmare."

I laugh because she's so right – Caz and I have always been sleuths for scandal – but when I stop, I meet her stare, still and tender.

"What? Oh shit, did I mess up my lipstick?"

"No, no," she reassures me, "you just... you look amazing, Ange. Like in-sanely gorgeous. Your dress, your makeup – all of it. Beautiful."

I glance over at her near empty can of Brew Dog amusedly before answering,

"Babe, shut up, you're a literal golden goddess. Look at your dress; look at your hair! Stu-nning."

She strokes a curl behind her ear with a bashful smile, but shakes her head,

"I mean it, Ange. You look fucking amazing. You're glowing."

She pauses for a moment, glancing upstairs, before adding in a low voice,

"I know I'm biased but... maybe this Macklin thing is a blessing in disguise. Him ghosting, or whatever."

"Babe."

"Okay, not a blessing, that's bad wording. I just meant... I'm happy you're here. And I'm happy you're smiling."

I know Babe's intentions are good, even if she doesn't understand what Eric and I have. This isn't the end of us – not even close – but I love her for the heart beneath her words.

"Well, why wouldn't I be smiling?" I cheese, wrapping my arms around here. "My Baby's turning 19!"

"And we're going to have the best night ever!" Caz singsongs as she re-enters. "Dion just snapped me back – look."

She holds the phone while Babe and I gather around either side of her to watch the clip. Dion's in the middle of his group, holding the phone, with a grin that puts him somewhere between tipsy and trolleyed as he brandishes the phone in the face of his friends.

"Hey Caraaa," he sings with a drunken smile, "we'll see you soon, baby, we're just at...

Guys. Where the fuck are we?"

Following the low hubbub of tipsy murmurs, a steady voice sounds, with a throaty chuckle.

"Hammersmith Station, mate."

The camera pans shakily to the voice's source: a brown-haired boy in a dark band tee, looking over his gaggle of increasingly drunken mates amusedly. Scott.

"Ooh, Scott's coming?" I say.

I mean it as a question, an innocent inquiry, but it comes out fast, fast and high-pitched like a baby bird's cheep, making it sound more like an overeager exclamation than a question, and Caz and Babe are sharing smug glances before I can take it back.

"Uh-uh, I don't wanna hear it," I say, drilling my fingers into my ears and speed walking away before they start, but even still, I can hear the sounds as they chase after me, teasing like parrots,

"Ooh, Scott's coming!"