I logged onto Adam’s LinkedIn profile and showed her. Feeling irritated that she still doubted it when I needed her to be focused on helping me get through this, I Googled ‘Adam Hannigan’ to see what else I could find. I wished I hadn’t. It turned out my social media-hating ex-fiancé had a Facebook and Instagram account under his real identity and wasn’t very careful with his privacy settings. I uncovered images of his house (pretty three-bedroom semi in a village outside Nottingham), his wife (Fiona, married for four years), his dog (a cute black pug called Bracken), and his new twins, as yet unnamed. I saw nights out with friends, holidays, and Christmases. When I clicked on a Facebook photo album entitled, ‘Our Wedding’, Mum leaned forward and closed my laptop. ‘Enough, Jemma,’ she said. ‘I believe you. You don’t need to torture yourself with those.’ She’d wrapped her arms round me and we’d cried together.

A key turning in the lock jolted me back to the present. Leah was away for the weekend on a hen do, and Tiff and Drew had been out to a leaving do for a work colleague which had obviously been a good night given the late hour.

‘How was it?’ I asked, peeking over the top of the sofa.

‘Jemma! You scared the life out of me.’ Tiff snapped the light on as she pushed the flat door closed. ‘What are you sitting in the dark for?’

I shrugged. ‘Thinking.’

She headed into the kitchen area and flicked the kettle on. ‘About your lovely mum or about that lying, deceiving, two-timing twat?’

I put my laptop down and sat up properly so I could see her. ‘Both.’

She spooned coffee into a mug and held up the jar and spoon as a question, but I shook my head. I was finding it hard enough sleeping as it was without giving myself a caffeine rush at 1.00 a.m.

‘No Drew?’ I asked.

‘Lucky bugger pulled. He’s gone clubbing.’

‘It wasn’t Dr Jones, was it?’

She laughed. ‘He wishes, but the gorgeous Dr Jones has a fiancée.’

‘You’ve been doing some detective work?’

‘Nope. Didn’t have to. Got it straight from the horse’s mouth.’

‘He was there? You spoke to him?’

‘Only because he ran into me and knocked me flying.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously. I have a bruise and everything. Anyway, we had a brief chat and first impressions are good.’

‘Shame about the fiancée thing.’

Tiff shrugged as she poured boiling water into her mug. ‘I’m not bothered. As I’ve said to you before, I wouldn’t date anyone from work. It’s not worth the hassle. Besides, Dr Jones may be hot but he’s far too immaculate for me. Give me a beard, tattoos and piercings any day.’