“I guess so. I mean, I don’t want to look like I’ve decided to move in or anything, but I think I’ll at least pack a nightie and my facial cleanser this time.”

“I’ve got just the thing,” she said, standing on her tippy-toes and reaching into her wardrobe.

“Do you want help?” I expected a “no”. Cat was quick to remind people that she was “just little” when it suited her, but she hated having to ask for help.

“Yes, please.” One for the record books!

“What am I looking for?”

“Leather tote bag. Somewhere up there.” She pointed to the top shelf of her wardrobe, which was reasonably well-organised, but tiny. I commiserated with her. My wardrobe in Sydney was four times the size. I thought I could see the handle of the bag she meant. I gave it a good tug and we stood helpless under a cascade of bags.

I looked at her. “Sorry,” I said. “Avalanche.”

“Bagalanche,” she replied, deadpan. We fell about laughing as we gathered no fewer than thirteen bags from her bedroom floor.

“You have a lot of bags.”

“Kettle? This is pot. You’re black.”

“True, but mine don’t fall on my head every time I open my wardrobe.”

“I need a bigger wardrobe.”

“Or fewer bags.”

She threw me a look. It meant, “you did not just say that”.

“Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to.”

“Here.” She handed me the tan tote in baby-soft leather, and I lost the ability to speak. It was stunning. I wondered if A) she’d miss it, and B) if it would fit in my luggage.

“You can’t have it.”

Bugger, she’d read my mind.

“But you can borrow it.”

I gave her a quick hug. “Thank you!”

James was due in less than twenty minutes, so I had to get a move on. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the only other decent (and clean) pair of knickers I had besides the ones I was wearing. Then I found a nightie—the sort-of sexy one with spaghetti straps, not the one with a cat drinking coffee on the front—and a cute top I could wear the next day with the jeans I had on. I had already packed a small toiletries bag with the basics and some makeup. I just needed my phone charger and my wallet, and I was all set.

I was wearing a pair of dark denim, super-comfortable skinny jeans and a floaty blue and white tie-dyed top which looked like I’d picked it up from a street vendor in Greece, but I’d actually bought from a boutique on Oxford Street in Sydney for a mint. My hair was half-up, half-down and a few loose curls framed my face. On my feet were my strappy flat sandals.

“Do you need a wrap, or a cardigan, or something? What if you’re going somewhere outdoors?” I hadn’t thought about that.

“Is it going to get cold tonight?”

“Not cold, but definitely cooler, probably below twenty.”