‘What?’ I’m not being fired! The relief courses through me, draining the tension from my body. I might slide off my chair. This is a second chance! Away from The Know, I can wipe my slate clean. Start over. But how can Harri leave Hudson? Harri is Hudson.

Harri is also looking relieved. ‘I need to tell you that this is very, very new, and I’ve got lots of details to work out. This is far from being any kind of done deal. But I have a feeling there might be some big changes at Hudson, and I think that it’s going to get harder to keep the spirit of The Know intact. I want to take everything I love about our work—mostly sex—and make a dedicated space for that. It was the last part of your naked speed dating piece that really inspired me. You write so beautifully about sex and bodies in terms of curiosity, experimentation, thinking, feeling and dreaming.’

I open my mouth to respond, but I’m not sure what to say. Harri continues. ‘I’ve been rereading your blog, I miss it! And I think there’s something at its core that we could recreate, we could get all of that raw magic and make it into something huge. And I’ve been so impressed by your, ah, creative writing.’ I blush. ‘No, honestly, you have a real talent there, and we might have found an unorthodox home for it at the moment—but I want to celebrate it, really give you a space for it. You’re such a good storyteller.’

I’m struck dumb, so Harri continues. ‘At The Know, I’ve had to be so wholly focused on traffic that I’ve lost sight of what it’s all for—who it’s for. And I don’t think I can carry on working with Hudson’s management changes. There have always been rumours that Panache is on the brink of folding, and I usually laugh them off, but with some of the recent changes, even I can’t see how it can carry on for much longer.’

I think of Sam Strong, and his rumours. ‘But Panache is a proper institution,’ my voice starts to wobble. ‘I’ve wanted to work there since I was twelve,’ I say, quietly. ‘Does this mean I never will?’ I think about Louise’s five year plan, and my own secret, buried dream. I always wanted to be a columnist at Panache. I knew it would never, ever happen. But then, even though I know I’ll probably never write a screenplay that wins an Oscar, on bad days, that’s the crazy hope that sometimes sustains me. I’d still grieve for my silly fantasy if someone decided there were going to be no more Oscars.