“Tea, please.” Jem shoved her bum into the booth and leaned back against the tatty leather. She looked tuckered out but elated, as if she’d spent the morning having really great sex, which didn’t seem to tally with her being abandoned mid-date. “God, my arse will never be the same again,” she said.

Rosie almost choked on her latte froth. “Why? What the hell have you been doing?”

Jem held up a finger, pausing for dramatic effect as the waiter arranged a teapot and related paraphernalia in front of her.

“Sugar?” he asked, as if sensing Rosie’s impatience.

“No, thank you.” Jem poured the tea and added milk, prolonging the agony as she took a dainty sip.

“Jemima Pardon,” Rosie said. “Behave yourself.”

Jem spluttered over the rim of her cup, no longer able to keep her face straight. “Okay, okay. Sylvie would have given the Amazons a run for their money. She had a passion for protein shakes, her driving was even worse than yours, and she took me climbing. Climbing! Can you imagine? On a huge wall about yo big.” Jem waved a hand in the vague direction of the ceiling and then paused to consider its height. “Only bigger. But this bloke helped me, and I made it to the top, and when I got down again, Sylvie had got fed up of waiting and buggered off for butterbeans or something.”

“Wow,” Rosie said. “We’ll come back to the slight on my driving. How high was this wall, really?”

Jem shrugged, but even in the dull light Rosie could see the glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. “About fifteen feet.”

“And you’d never climbed before?”

“No. Never. I don’t even like heights. They scare the pants off me.”

Rosie clinked her mug against Jem’s cup. “This calls for a celebration. Grab a napkin and wipe the grease off that menu. Dinner’s on me.”

* * *

Northern Soul might have been a dingy little fleapit, but Jem’s all-day breakfast ticked the right boxes, and judging by the satisfied murmurs coming from Rosie at regular intervals, its meat pie, chips, and mushy peas were also a hit.

Jem dipped a piece of black pudding in runny yolk, added a dollop of brown sauce, and chased the mouthful with a bite of toast. “I have thighs of steel,” she announced, apropos of nothing, and Rosie dropped all the peas off her fork.

“Explain,” Rosie said, giving up on the peas and attacking her pie.

“That’s what Rob, the climbing bloke, told me. I think he was just being nice, though, because every time I lift my leg higher than kerb height now I almost fall over.”

“They got you to the top of that wall, Jem.” Rosie nibbled her pastry thoughtfully. “How the heck did you end up going climbing, anyway?”