Gordon’s Wine Bar on London’s Embankment. A nineteenth-century, candlelit underground haven. This was where Dee had come on her first date with Billy, her dead ex-husband. Over the course of their ill-fated marriage, they’d spent many more nights here. Drinking wine and talking shite with people Dee had once considered her closest friends.

Today was her first time back in the wine bar since she’d left London three years ago. She’d worried it might feel overwhelming to be here again. But as she’d walked down the steps into the cave-like space below, it had felt a little like coming home. She’d spent so long trying to move past her divorce and everything else that had driven her from London, she’d almost forgotten there had been a long time – most of her adult life, in fact – when she’d been happier here in the city than anywhere else.

It was late afternoon when she arrived. Late enough to order a glass of wine without feeling guilty; early enough to find a free table. Her drink ordered, she settled at one of the wooden tables and waited. And waited. Forty minutes later, her glass empty, she was still waiting.

By now, the buzz she’d had since leaving the TV studio had faded. She’d been recording a ten-minute slot for a frothy, early evening programme that most people Dee knew would never watch. She’d been asked to come on the programme to discuss the government’s plans to reduce the flow of immigration into the UK. Following a series of articles she’d written on immigration, Dee was increasingly asked to comment on the issue in different media. This had been her first TV appearance, and she’d been nervous as hell. But the young man and woman presenting the programme were great fun, and Dee had enjoyed herself more than she’d expected. At the end, they’d asked if she’d like to come back another time and she’d said yes straight away.

She checked her phone for messages but, so far, nothing. She was trying to decide whether or not to order another glass of wine when a young woman came into the bar and, after scanning the room, approached Dee’s table.

‘Emer?’ Dee stood up, smiling.

‘Dee? Oh thank goodness. I’m so sorry. I got on the wrong Tube and ended up heading east instead of west. I didn’t realise until I looked up and saw I was already in Mile End. I might not know my way around London, but I know Mile End is nowhere near here.’

‘Well you got here eventually,’ Dee said. ‘Sit down and let me get you a drink. What would you like?’

‘Soda and lime, if that’s okay?’