‘I’ve been trying to call, but I think you’ve got me blocked, haven’t you? And I don’t blame you.’ He sipped the black coffee the waitress had brought over with a coy smile. (The waitress, not Phil. Phil was, Tara noticed, unusually careful not to give the waitress a coy smile back.) ‘I was on my way to the Wellness Centre, as it happens. You’ve saved me fifty quid – I was going to book a session with you.’ He adopted a serious expression. ‘So we could talk.’

‘You know I blocked you because I didn’t want to talk?’

‘I guessed that.’ He gazed at her earnestly. ‘But there are things I need to say, Tara.’

‘Oh.’

It wasn’t something she would have admitted aloud but seeing Phil across the table was actually very, very pleasant right now. He always had that air of someone who could make a situation better, even if it was just by ordering cake with zero thought for the calories. He was still wearing a little too much aftershave, and she had a bad feeling he was wearing Chelsea boots, but something was different about him. He seemed to care much more than usual about how he was coming across.

‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘Talk.’

Phil adopted a serious expression. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Since you ask, I’m having a nightmare day.’ Tara never had a problem being honest with Phil. That went with the no-commitment territory, weirdly enough. There was never anything at stake, no need to lie to make yourself look better. ‘I’ve just screwed up a really important interview.’

Tara didn’t tell him about her dad, or Toby, or Molly. That also went with the territory.

‘I’m sure you haven’t.’

‘No, there’s no need to be nice. I made just about every mistake I could have done.’ Sure, she should be icy with Phil, but after the weekend she’d had, it seemed unimportant. ‘But maybe it’s for the best. I’ve decided it’s time for some changes in my life.’

‘Me too. Me too, Tara.’ Phil reached for her hands across the table, cupping them in his own. They were warm and made hers look delicate in comparison, but Tara was surprised by how unmoved she was. They were just nice, warm hands. She couldn’t be bothered to remove hers. ‘I’ve got something I need to say.’

‘Really? OK.’

‘Um, right. Well …’ He cleared his throat. ‘So.’

Tara suspected she wasn’t giving Phil the reaction he’d expected; he seemed to be mentally throwing discarded prompt cards over his shoulder as they failed to have the desired effect.