‘No, Jem, I am. I’m Fukushima, the Bermuda Triangle and a Primark sale all rolled into one. I keep picking guys who won’t let me set my boundaries,’ Simi panicked.

Meagan clutched her temples. Jemima had seen this before. It was like Simi had heard you but not heard you at the same time. Meagan often lamented that discussing relationships with Simi was like having a political discourse with a vacuum cleaner. A lot was going in but it was mainly rubbish.

‘It’s not about a guy letting you set your boundaries. You set your boundaries and if he doesn’t like it he can Foxtrot Oscar,’ explained Meagan.

Just then the cabbie in front pulled out of the rank sending the drivers behind into an indignant, honking frenzy. Meagan blew them an inflammatory kiss which caused Jemima to scrunch down in her seat, mortified.

‘Set boundaries? Just like that? What if he doesn’t like those boundaries? What if he wants to change them? What if he likes me more with different boundaries?’ Simi asked oblivious to the drama unfolding around them.

‘No, Simi. I mean it. No,’ Meagan repeated with the futile strictness of someone talking to a baffled puppy.

Meagan suddenly stopped. She reached across and thocked Simi on the forehead again.

‘Awwwww!’ Simi wailed.

‘Meagan!’ said Jemima.

‘She wants to go back to Oscar and try setting boundaries. I can tell. She thinks if she says she doesn’t want kids and marriage and a house in the country, he’ll get back with her and then eventually they’ll have kids, a marriage and a house in the country,’ said Meagan.

Jemima looked back at Simi who was doing her best innocent face but looked more like a toddler caught with their hand in the biscuit tin. How was Meagan able to spot a seemingly insignificant detail and turn it into a three-act narrative?

Simi began welling up again. Jemima reached between the seats putting a reassuring hand on her knee. It broke Jemima’s heart to see Simi try so hard only for the happy-ever-after she longed for to elude her every time. However, perhaps there was a positive to come from this. Maybe it was a chance to take time away from men. It would be tough for Simi who would probably need some sort of relationship methadone – like Kettle Chips or Orange is the New Black, but if Beverly Blake could survive without a man, surely Simi could too.

Jemima went to speak just as a queuing taxi tooted at them long and loud.

‘Alright, alright,’ said Meagan.

Behind them, the cab drivers looked like they were about to combust. Jemima turned to Simi who was still staring at the floor. Seeing her crammed in the back seat with her scrunched up afro, Cat in the Hat pyjamas and knees practically around her ears, surrounded by her belongings, would have been comical had it not been so tragic.

‘Okay, Sim,’ said Meagan her tone finally softening. ‘Where are we going?’