‘Everything alright, hun?’ Simi asked as they entered Old Street tube station.

‘Yeah,’ replied Jemima forcing a smile. ‘I was just thinking about my date – and my book.’

‘Ah, don’t you worry. Everything’s going to be brilliant,’ said Simi tapping her Oyster card on the reader.

‘Yeah,’ replied Jemima hoping she was right.

Jemima paced the Kings Place lobby, unable to shake the ambivalence clouding her. Yes, she had been looking forward to this evening but she couldn’t ignore her anxiety – like she was losing control. She decided to focus her mind on Xandria Bishop and the reading of her award-gobbling hit novel. Just as she was relaxing into that thought, she spotted Chance making his way through the crowd. As his eyes searched the room, she automatically smiled. Just like on the plane, he had an ease around people making them instantly warm to him.

Finally he spotted Jemima and made his way over, his smile brightening at the sight of her.

Jemima’s cheeks practically burst into flames with pleasure and awkwardness in equal measure.

‘Hello, you,’ he said hovering for a moment.

If he was contemplating a kiss, that was a no-no. Why? Because this was not a date, Jemima told herself. Tomorrow night with Lance – that was a date. Tonight, Simi and Steve, Meagan and Bruno, those were both dates but this, here with Chance, was not. And if she didn’t let him know that from the off, one minute you’re air-kissing in a Kings Place lobby and the next, you’re living together – what? Why did her brain keep making these insane leaps?

‘Hello, you!’ She smiled, thrusting out her hand.

Chance stopped, looked down at it and without missing a beat, took Jemima’s hand in his.

Her breath shortened as she became aware of his soft skin, his palms big and spongy.

What was he doing and why was she rooted to the spot looking into his eyes?

‘I’m looking forward to this. I think it’s gonna be pretty special,’ he said.

Jemima pulled her hand out of his clasp.

‘Me too. Drink?’ she babbled, searching for the bar or an exit, whichever was nearest.

Chance smiled. ‘Sure.’

Jemima watched as a barefooted Xandria very deliberately closed her book, made prayer hands and bowed to the assembled audience. The applause was immediate and rapturous. Jemima looked around her. Had they all been listening to the same reading? Not one review mentioned that The Cave was a hodgepodge of incoherent ramblings, puffed-up prose and wildly implausible dialogue. Jemima flinched as the woman beside her leapt to her feet, wiping tears from her eyes, her standing ovation threatening to infect the entire room. Jemima wanted to cry too but her tears were in mourning for the four hours of her life she’d just lost. She gawped as, one by one, people around her began standing until she could no longer see the stage. Jemima looked at Chance for assurance but he too was standing, clapping along with everyone else! She knew this had been a bad idea. Granted he was easy on the eye, but even the cult leader Charles Manson was a looker in his youth. And fine, he was pleasant to chat with but they were clearly on different pages if he enjoyed what they’d just been subjected to. She snuck another look at him. Yep, he was still flapping his hands together like an aqua park sea lion. But worse, Jemima had a growing awareness that her being seated was becoming conspicuous. With nowhere to hide, she forced herself out of her seat and begrudgingly applauded. Her petty act of rebellion was to do it so lazily it was essentially a slow hand clap. After what felt like an age, the applause subsided and the assembled audience made their way out of the auditorium. Still in a daze, Jemima followed Chance out of Kings Place. As they emerged onto the street, Jemima stole yet another look at him. After his response to The Cave, his love of Beverly Blake’s escapades didn’t feel quite so flattering.