I’m looking forward to telling Emma about Scott – leaving out the weeping on his chest part. I’ve wanted to talk to someone about him ever since I got back. Emma’s going to think I was doing my usual thing: dipping my toe, as she likes to say. I suppose she’s right. Ever since Pete left, I’ve been enjoying the freedom of casual relationships. Sometimes it might be a night of flirting ending with a snog at the bar, other times passionate sex followed by a fry-up the next morning at some café and a swift goodbye, never to see them again. With Elliot, it was worse: sympathy sex.

He was so earnest about his feelings for me. Always walking past my desk or dropping by with some lunch for us to share. My colleagues thought it was hilarious. As for my friends: ever since Elliot gave me a mince pie and asked if we could have another date – in other words, another round of sex – he’s been called “pie-guy”. The poor bugger.

“And you didn’t see him again?” Emma asks. “After the kiss.”

“Nope.” I wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “Thank God.”

“What do you mean? He sounds like a really nice guy and you were obviously attracted to him.”

I think about denying the attraction but why bother? I like entertaining the impossible scenario whereby Scott turned up at my hotel door the next morning and insisted he take me out for breakfast.

“Has he tried to call?” Emma asks.

“He doesn’t have my number.”

“Do you have his?”

I frown. Why is Emma so fixed on me seeing Scott again?

“Of course not.”

“It’s just…” Emma hesitates.

“Just what?” I push back my chair and stand. “That was delicious, by the way. Almost makes me want to learn how to bake.”

“Trish, you haven’t been this into a guy in ages.”

I force a laugh. “I barely know him, Em. Come on, let’s get this scan over with.”

Emma shakes her head. “Some days I wonder if you realize how often you do that.”

I follow Emma out of the door.

“Do what?”

“Suppress how you feel,” she says over her shoulder.

“I blame my upbringing,” I say lightly.

We hop into my car and I pull out onto the road, but Emma isn’t ready to let it go.

“You joke about that all the time, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s actually true.”

Of course it’s true, I want to yell. Why do you think I never talk about it?

“What was it like growing up?” Emma asks. “Honestly.”

“Oh, Em, let’s not go there now, OK?”