She forked some of her carrot cake into her mouth. ‘Hmm. As long as you promise to keep your hands off each other. I don’t want to be made to feel like a gooseberry.’ She laid her hand on her chest. ‘My heart is still healing, remember.’

I stole some of her cake. She jested, but I knew she was still cut up about Lance, especially as she had to work in his office every day. I also knew that she’d received a couple of threatening texts which she was certain were from Lance’s wife, Mae.

The first of these, sent in the middle of the night, read I hope you die of cancer bitch.

The second, again sent in the small hours, said I’ve got my eye on you.

I had suggested that she take them to the police. It had to be illegal to send threatening texts, but Sasha refused. ‘Number one, I don’t want to have to explain my love life to some smirking cop. Number two, I don’t think Mae would be stupid enough to send me nasty texts from her own phone. She’s probably using an unregistered pay-as-you-go.’ She had sighed. ‘All I can do is make sure I have no contact with him and wait for it to blow over.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said now. ‘You won’t be a gooseberry. When Charlie and I went out for the day with Tilly, we barely touched each other.’

‘I admire your restraint.’

‘I’m pretty sure you’ll like her. She’ll definitely like you.’

Sasha smiled at me, her mouth stuffed full of cake. She crossed her eyes and spoke with her mouth full, icing oozing from between her lips. ‘How could she not?’

When I mentioned to Charlie that I wanted her to meet Sasha, her face fell.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

Charlie had come straight from work and was sitting at the little table in my living room, a glass of wine in front of her. She was leafing through an arty magazine.

‘She won’t like me.’

I sat down next to her. ‘Of course she will.’

She didn’t look up from the magazine. She turned the page to a photo-shoot in which models posed as murder victims, one stretched out in an alleyway with a slash across her throat, another tied to a chair with a plastic bag over her head. ‘Girls don’t like me.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘It’s true. Especially boyfriends’ friends. They never like me.’

This sounded daft to me. Paranoid. ‘Tilly liked you.’

Charlie glanced up from her magazine. She seemed tired, lacking her usual fizz and sparkle. ‘Tilly’s your sister. She’s kind of duty bound to like me. Or at least pretend that she does.’

‘But why do you think Sasha won’t like you?’