She scrutinises my face. ‘I went … for a meal … which I know you know, because you liked other pictures around the same time mine went up, so why didn’t you like mine?’

Vivienne adjusts her neck. She knows the score. She keeps the score.

‘I must have … missed it? You know how sometimes it randomly reorders things.’

‘Hmm.’

The truth is, I like every fifth or sixth thing Mia posts – not always because I like them, but to sort of say hi and remind her of my existence. I don’t want to look rabid. I thought I was managing my affection well. Evidently not.

‘And how is Art?’ Mia asks.

‘He’s fine! Busy.’

She clasps her hands. This again.

Suffice to say that Art has a lot of hangers-on. A lot of women of a certain age. I know that’s unfeminist to say, but it’s a phenomenon that brings out the worst in me. At exhibitions, launches, shows … He’s the sexy, shaven-headed photographer. The hot thug. I can see it in their eyes: he’s a welcome, regular escape from their non-pussy-licking husbands.

‘Can he make drinks on Friday?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Not even one?’

‘One drink?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll ask.’

‘Do that.’

‘I will.’

‘Appreciated.’

‘So,’ Mia continues. ‘What’s the column this week?’

‘Co-habitation with women versus co-habitation with men. A nostalgia piece, in part, about my uni days.’

‘Juicy anecdotes, searing insight, rounded off with everywoman wisdom?’

‘Check, check, check!’

She hesitates.

‘Just, keep it on the hi-fi, rather than the low-fi.’

‘Spice it up,’ says Vivienne. ‘S’boring. You’re like someone in a Sunday supplement moaning about their shoes.’

Mia says: ‘Now, now. But yes, Jenny, it’s true. We’re all bored stiff with your vulnerability. Save it for your therapist. We need bold voices, not weak cries for help. We want ferocity. Strength. A roar from the lady jungle, not a whimper. This is the frontline of feminism. We have work to do. Remember the name of your column: INTENSE MODERN WOMAN.’

‘I mean, it’s an oxymoron though, isn’t it, having a column in a feminist magazine.’

Mia stares at me. ‘Do you mean a column as in an erection? Are we still doing phallus chat? COME ON. Brand too strong for some punk-ass bear to stop this wave. Make it gain traction.’

I swallow. ‘I understand, Mia.’

I do not.

She starts to walk away and turns back to say: ‘The headline of this conversation is: don’t hold back. Explode everything about what living with other women is really like. Put a grenade up the arse of that female utopia.’

‘Got it.’

Simone follows Mia, giving me a hefty side-eye.

Vivienne walks to the kitchenette zone and starts wrenching at the coffee machine. ‘Why are you chewing your fingers?’ she asks me. ‘Anxiety?’

‘No, it’s because I think I’m fucking delicious.’