‘A wedding dress?’ says Sid. ‘She’s a radical feminist who writes for a radical feminist online magazine.’

‘It was from a supermarket. I think that’s pretty radical actually,’ I say.

‘Shame it’ll be the only time she gets to wear one, though,’ says my mother. ‘You know, it’s as I suspected. There’s not a single photo of me up here.’

I say: ‘There’s not really a photo of anyone.’

There isn’t. There’s just a few gaps and lost nails, where Art took his pictures.

‘We hardly ever see her with anyone,’ Sid says. ‘No one comes round.’

I shoot her a hard look. ‘I’m really busy, actually. I have an active social life. And anyway, you’re all always here. That is basically a society.’

‘This is Sid, Moon and Frances,’ I say. Frances steps forward, like she is about to be knighted. My mother takes each of their hands in turn. ‘Very strong energies. Very raw. Especially you.’ Sid steps back.

‘Mother,’ I say, ‘what’s going on?’

My mother widens her eyes and looks at me meaningfully. She lowers her voice. ‘Your text, darling. Your … predicament. I am here to help you sort things out.’

My stomach plummets. That’s why Kelly didn’t reply. I sent that dumb, pathetic yelp to … my mother.

‘Oh god!’ I say. ‘That wasn’t meant for you! And I was being all late-night and dramatic.’ I look at my lodgers. ‘There has been a miscommunication. It’s all good.’

‘No,’ my mother says, ‘it’s not all good. You are evidently not all good. Look at this lightless tomb you’re living in.’

‘This house cost … is worth more than yours. As you know.’

‘That’s London for you. A city of discontented idiots in expensive houses.’

I look at Moon, Sid and Frances. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ I say. ‘No one is coming or going anywhere.’

They look at each other nervously. Then Frances says: ‘Thing is, Jenny, we were just having a meeting earlier this morning, when you were still in bed. We have decided we don’t want to stay here. When we are so … misused.’

‘Misused?’

‘In your “journalism”. We’re not paying this month’s rent, and we’re leaving. We’re going to an Airbnb until we find somewhere else.’

‘That settles it!’ says my mother – domineering, genial. ‘This is what you call good old-fashioned serendipity. I am a big fan of Serendipity, and all her sisters.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘No. Just … no.’

Frances says: ‘Personally, I can’t bear to stay in one place for more than a few months. It cripples me, creatively.’

Sid says, ‘I don’t want the treasure of my life to be the silver drawer for your magpie claws. You are twisting my real. You are junk mail.’

My mother stares at her.

ONE-LINERS