Jemima was baffled. In her gut, what he was saying felt wrong. There had to be more to it than that, otherwise why was adding romance to Beverly’s story such a big deal? And if being in love was just some chemical interchange between two skin suits, what was the point of anything?

‘That’s so cynical. It’s about connection. It’s not all hormones,’ said Jemima.

‘You obviously haven’t been in love for a while but I bet you know someone who has. Don’t they do anything to be with their beau, think about them, talk about them, want them all the time – like an addict?’

Instantly, Simi popped into Jemima’s head like a jack-in-the-box. Lance couldn’t have described her more accurately if he’d tried. Could he be right? Though Jemima didn’t want it for herself, surely the world would be a much drearier place if being in love was simply biological impulses. She shifted in her seat, glaring at the door. Lance had short-circuited her brain. Jemima beckoned the waitress who scuttled over with their bill.

‘Hope you snap, crackle and pop back soon!’ She beamed as Lance tapped his credit card on her reader.

‘Well, thanks for breaking your, you know, rule, to come out tonight,’ Jemima said as they made their way to the exit.

‘It was lovely,’ said Lance, taking Jemima’s hand and kissing it. ‘And if I’m ever after a fourth ex-wife, I’ll look you up!’

‘Great… Cheerios!’ said Jemima striding off down the street in the opposite direction.

In her Uber on the way home, Jemima huffed. What a bizarre evening. At times, she’d found Lance vaguely attractive but the next moment she’d wanted to waterboard him in a vat of semi-skimmed milk. Her car breezed down Upper Street and Jemima noticed all the couples doing normal coupley things or, according to Lance, satisfying their rampant addictions. His comments had really got under her skin. At the next turning the car cruised past Nostromo. On impulse, Jemima looked up at Chance’s window and smiled. The lights were off. She wondered where he might be and who he was dousing in coffee tonight.

Not long after, Jemima was relieved to be back home, padding around in her pyjamas. Simi was at a stage combat class and the place was silent. She went through to her living room, staring at a book she’d put off reading for a very long time. She peeled it from the shelf, her fingers tracing the gold letters of its glossy cover.

‘A Walk on the Mild Side by Pete Dasos,’ she read.

It was very kind of Chance to give her his copy of the book and she was glad he had. Perhaps, within its pages, she would find an antidote to Lance’s depressing cynicism or maybe just an escape. She headed back to her bedroom, snuggled under her duvet and prised open the book.

Jemima’s eyes snapped open. Her bedside lamp was still on, her hand clasped around Pete’s book. She’d only meant to read a few chapters but had ended up reading it cover to cover! She looked down. In her other hand was a ball of tissues. She opened the hardback, peering at its smooth, white pages and all at once, she wanted to see Chance. She wanted to talk about Pete and Lula’s journey. She wanted to talk about that wedding. Quickly, she dressed and headed out.