We get into a rhythm, side by side at the sink, I wash while Tristan dries. It’s odd that people make such a fuss about the importance of eye contact, when there is something so disinhibiting about simply being next to someone. It makes it far easier to ask, and answer, big questions. For example, ‘Louise hasn’t really mentioned Willo to me, but I get the impression that she has strong feelings for him. Do you think they’d get back together?’

Tristan wipes some foam from his cheek. ‘To be honest with you, I reckon that’s up to Lou! They have been on again, off again for years. Mostly off, lately. He does love her, I know he does. But he’s not prepared to stop…you know.’ Tristan takes the damp glass he is holding and gestures to the empty air. I don’t know. Stop gambling? Stop his weekly visits to BDSM sex dungeons?

‘Stop what?’

‘Drinking himself insensible and getting off with other girls. And occasionally, chundering.’

‘To be fair, I didn’t think Willo’s card was any more marked than yours when you all came in. It could have been any of you.’

Tristan flushes. ‘I’d hope that at this point in my life, I’m past chundering. I’m an old man!’

‘How old?’

‘Thirty-two. And unlike most of my reprobate friends, I’m not knocking five years off, and telling people I’m a “DJ” or an “influencer”. I have a proper job!’

‘What do you do?’ I brace myself for something horrific, he’s a trader, a broker, he goes around the city buying up orphanages and selling them for parts.

‘I’m an English teacher. I’m guiding the teens of Tower Hamlets through their GCSEs. Oh, hold on…I’ve just realised. You’re that Imogen!’ Somehow, I don’t think Tristan is going to tell me how brave I am—but I don’t think he’s going to call me a slut, either. ‘My girls love you. They think you’re sick. I’m given to understand that’s a good thing, hopefully they don’t labour under the misapprehension that you are, in fact, contagious.’ I should be annoyed by Tristan’s faux Dickensian syllable stacking, but it’s strangely endearing.

‘I don’t suppose you’d want to come in and do a Careers talk?’

Oh, no. For the past few hours, I’d let myself forget about my career, and its imminent death. Tristan misinterprets my look of horror. ‘We could pay you, of course! It’s a small budget, but…’

‘No, no, it’s…honestly, I did something really stupid, and I’m not sure I’m going to be at The Know for much longer.’

‘I’m sorry. What happened?’