Kelly shouts: ‘I reckon a lot of scornful reviews of you just went viral.’

I give her a thumbs up.

I walk off. She shouts after me: ‘Makes it all worthwhile, you know, freezing my tits off in your shadow.’

On the way home, I email her, and I send it:

Dear Kelly,

I appreciate you going to speak to Mia – I know how much you hate her and the Foof office, so that must have been a genuine endeavour. I see that I have been in an oubliette of self-regard. I thought boundaries were a bad thing, but now I see that knowing where I begin and end tells me what I can forgive of people, and what I can ask for forgiveness for. Because you’re mine I walk the line and all that. I have also Googled friendship therapy to see if it exists and it actually does so if you think we need to go for that to fully repair the damage, then I am game.

Love,

Jenny x

THAT NIGHT

I sleep the whole night through for the first time in a year.

The next morning, Kelly has replied.

INBOX

Dear Jenny,

Thank you for the special gift of your music last night and for your thoughtful email. Do you have time today to meet for a coffee – this morning maybe? I can get out at 11ish for 55 minutes or so.

Let me know,

Kelly x

Fifty-five minutes.

Whatever, Kelly.

Still, I do find the ‘let me know’ sort of thrilling. I am clearly so needy that even someone demanding a response from me is joyous.

I feel like she’s chasing me a bit, and I like that.

It feels like a beginning.

IT HAPPENED TO HAPPEN

I go in the café and quickly buy two coffees and two croissants and sit down at a table by the window to make our meeting as light and optimistic as possible. Kelly arrives on time. She comes to the table and I show her the coffee and croissants. ‘I got you a cappuccino – that’s right, isn’t it?’

‘It is. Thank you.’

I point to the croissants. ‘And some pastry-based fuel.’

‘Perfect.’

She takes off her coat and sits. I sip my coffee and watch her tear into a croissant. I pick up the other croissant and take a bite. It could have sat under a heat-lamp for a week and I wouldn’t give a shit. I think of the microbes in my gut, receiving the white fluff and debating what to do with it. Billions of little voices, desires and commands and orders and opinions. Shut it, I tell them. Shut the fuck up, you and the rest of the world. I’m concentrating.

Kelly looks at me and smiles. ‘Only you could send an email that contained the phrase “oubliette of self-regard”,’ she says. ‘Dickhead.’

I smile, uncertainly. ‘You still love me, though.’