‘She’s become brittle, Jem and… highly strung,’ said Eve.

‘So a good seeing-to’ll sort her out, is that it?’

‘Plus,’ Eve had pressed on, ignoring Jemima, ‘this’ll mean there’s been two books with not a snog or a fumble between them! It’s becoming… repetitaaaave.’

And there you had it. What had remained unsaid had finally been uttered, leaving Jemima in stunned silence. She knew she was no Xandria Bishop, the hot new author and recent winner of the Booker Prize. Her debut novel, The Cave, which was set entirely in a vagina had sent shockwaves through the publishing world. But despite none of Jemima’s books being set in anyone’s reproductive organs she trusted her creative instincts. Beverly did NOT need a man.

‘MAYBE I SHOULD SET THE WHOLE THING IN MY VAGINA?!!’ she’d barked at Eve.

In hindsight, Jemima wished she hadn’t been sitting in the window of Nostromo when she’d yelled that down the phone. The sensation of her voice bouncing off the glass and echoing around the quiet café still felt very recent.

‘Look, Jemima, all we want is a good shafting.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘That’s all I ask. We love you Jem-J and would hate to lose yoooooou.’

And with that, Eve had taken a sharp inhale on her e-cigarette and hung up, ‘Laters!’

The casual ‘Laters!’ had left Jemima so fuming she hadn’t picked up on Eve’s parting, ‘hate to lose you’.

‘That sucks,’ said Chance.

‘My editor just won’t let it go. She’s desperate for Beverly to fall in love but it’s crazy, isn’t it?’ Jemima said, knowing that as a connoisseur of the books, Chance would understand.

But instead of empathetic nods he was smiling.

‘I really liked her boss, Kane. Beverly was good with him. And just when things were gonna get hot and heavy, boom, he died. Don’t get me wrong, great twist that he was behind the Swindon fraud and I love that you focus on how brilliant and driven she is but wouldn’t it be great if she had, I don’t know, some kind of encounter? Nothing serious but, you know.’

Jemima’s face turned to thunder. ‘Want Beverly to shag some random, eh? Maybe a guy she meets in a bar or on a plane—’

Chance looked at Jemima confused, ‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just, apart from her cat, now she’s got no one—’

‘Mr Tinkles is not no one! And anyway, the book is about her work not her bedroom.’

Chance put his hand on Jemima’s wrist. ‘What I meant was, it was great to see another side to her. The fans miss that.’

Jemima turned squarely to him, ‘Real fans love her for who she is not who she’s with.’

Nice. She’d remember that one too. She whipped her hand from under his, unclipping her seatbelt, ‘and IT’S BEVERLY JONES NOT BRIDGET BLAKE! I mean Blake. It’s Beverly Blake. Oh whatever!’

Bollocks, she exhaled as she flounced off to stew beside the exit.