It ought to be a good, old-fashioned catch-up over a pint. Two old friends, a slightly noisy pub, average ale. Nothing special, but it's the company that matters, isn't it? The chance to exchange news, ask after godchildren, and reminisce about old times.
Maybe it doesn't happen as often as you would like. Maybe you run out of things to say sooner than you used to. That's fine, though, and to be expected; life moves slower when you're in your forties. In some ways, the fact that you can sit in a pub more or less in silence, occasionally exchanging a smile or checking your phone, is simply a measure of how comfortable you are in each other's company.
It would be silly to imagine there was anything else going on. That you've been deliberately cut off and you're the only person who doesn't know why. People have wives and children and houses and jobs and responsibilities - it comes with age, nothing more sinister than that.
Probably.
It ought to be a good, old-fashioned catch-up over a pint. But for at least one old friend, this old-fashioned catch-up is about to turn into a living nightmare.
A story about friendship... and the things people say behind your back.