At work, I stared out of the office window, worrying that Caleb, Harlie’s ex, might not show. It had been such a triumph to have persuaded him in here and if he let me down—hold on! Someone was walking up the long drive; please God, let this be him.

Even from a distance, his clothes looked ridiculously fashionable, from his bang-on-trend Harris-tweed peacoat to the four inches of bare ankle between the bottom of his trousers and the start of his shoes.

In the entrance hall I met him as he shouldered the door open. He was huge.

‘Rachel?’ His smile was nervous.

Such grooming! His eyebrows were boy-band tidy, his teeth were dazzlingly white and his hair obviously got a lot of love. So much in common with Harlie.

In the drawing room he refused tea and biscuits. ‘I have this.’ He indicated his black Myprotein shaker. His hands trembled. ‘It’s good she’s in here.’ He was talking too fast. ‘It’s been a nightmare, though. It all got so dark, so fast.’

‘Save it for when we’re in the room.’ I felt desperately sorry for him.

He stood up. ‘Can we start? I just want to get it done.’

When we walked in, everyone stared, wondering who this good-looking man belonged to.

Lowry Cooke—who’d obviously just understood what was going down—was gleeful and alert, practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Yeah, well, enjoy it while you can. Wait until Sienna, his ex-girlfriend, was here to spill the beans on his antics!

‘So, shithead?’ Harlie said to Caleb. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

Caleb was waxy with pallor. ‘Your ma told me,’ he stuttered. ‘I wanted to help.’

‘I don’t want your help.’

‘Harlie…’ I silenced her with a look.

Caleb took his chair. ‘Can I…?’ he asked, and began removing his jacket, revealing huge shoulders and bulky biceps which strained against his sleeves. We were all rapt.

Caleb was objectively hot, but his oversized biceps made me sad. It was bad enough that women angsted about all the ways their bodies were wrong. But now it seemed that the young men were getting in on the act, going to the gym, living on raw eggs and boring on about ketosis, God love them.

‘I’m Harlie’s ex-husband,’ Caleb said. ‘We’re still married, but separated—’

‘—I haven’t seen him or heard from him in eleven months,’ Harlie said. ‘Packed up his stuff when I was at work, told me nothing about it—’

‘—I told you—’

‘—I came home, everything was gone. He wouldn’t answer my calls. Went round to his mum’s and she wouldn’t let me in. Went to his work. Same.’

Gently, Trassa shushed Harlie. ‘Let the lad tell his side of things. Go on,’ she instructed Caleb.