It all started on one of those lazy afternoons where you and Cassie were lying on the floor of your flat, surrounded by empty crisp packets and the hum of a record spinning in the background. She was twirling her hair around her finger, staring up at the ceiling as if it might drop some cosmic revelation.

“Let’s do something… mad,” she murmured.

You raised an eyebrow. “Cass, everything you do is mad.”

She rolled onto her stomach, her cheek pressed against the rug, smiling dreamily. “No, like… really mad. What if we got tattoos?”

You laughed. “Tattoos? What, like a butterfly tramp stamp?”

Her eyes widened with delight. “Yes! Or, like, a dinosaur eating a cake. Something brilliant.”