Jem busied herself making patterns in her ice cream, concentrating on the swirl of sauce so she wouldn’t blurt out the question teetering on the tip of her tongue. Whatever was going on between Rosie and Steph, it was none of her business. If Rosie wanted to tell her, she would tell her.

“Two years and three months,” Rosie said, her voice barely audible above the rain drumming on the cars. “That’s how long we were together. We split up last September.”

“Oh.” Jem put her tub down. “Sorry, Rosie, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You didn’t pry.”

Jem regarded her carefully, trying to catch signs of anger or regret, but Rosie was nibbling a piece of Flake she’d dipped in raspberry, and she seemed quite cheerful.

“I wanted to, though,” Jem admitted.

“Well, yes, I could see that.” Rosie bit her chocolate. “But in contrast to my bull-in-a-china-shop approach, you are far too polite to be nosy.”

Jem checked the clock on the dash. She had eight minutes left on her break, which didn’t seem anywhere near long enough for this conversation. It would be cowardly to change the subject, though.

“It must be hard to see her all the time at work,” she said. “I know people who’ve had to move stations or groups after a break-up with a colleague.”

Rosie reached a hand out of her window, letting rain collect on her mucky palm. She watched it drip through her fingers for a few seconds before answering. “It helps that she’s Major Crimes and not a bog-standard plod, which is ironic, because that was half the problem in the first place. She wanted me to follow in her footsteps, work on her team, but I was happy doing what I’m doing. I’d like to take my National Investigators’ Examination—that’s the first step to qualifying as a detective—but I’ll do it when I’m ready, not to please whoever I’m sleeping with.”

“Sounds fair enough.”

“Not to Steph,” Rosie said, and for the first time Jem heard the bitterness and hurt beneath her words. “Steph is Type A to the core, and I’m…well, I’m not sure what the hell I am. It wasn’t all bad, of course. We got on fine at first, had a great social life, lots of nights out and weekends away. I don’t really know at what point it stopped being fun. I can’t remember it being a major light-bulb moment or anything; I just realised she was whittling away at me bit by bit. Every decision we made together was actually her decision, and I was constantly making compromises to keep her on side. It was exhausting, and I was miserable, so I ended it.”

She was back to staring at her palm again. Jem took hold of her fingers and gave them a squeeze.