A year and a half after we had stopped talking, I spotted a former friend at King’s Cross station. She hadn’t spotted me amid the crowds of tourists, and I knew I had about five seconds to decide whether to approach her. As she wandered past, oblivious to my presence, I couldn’t bring myself to call her name. There was too much history and pain there, and I couldn’t think of anything to say. It was then that I had both the sinking realisation and profound acceptance that the friendshiphellip;read more raquo;