“Oh, dear, that doesn’t sound good.” I gesture for my phone. “I need to talk to him.” I hesitate. “Unless I take off and meet him outside work.”

“You can’t. You’ve got book club tonight.”

I slump. “Fucking book club.” It meets after the library closes and the attendees typically linger over wine and cheese. I won’t be finished before nine tonight.

“I’d agree with that assessment. You must have the patience of a saint with that little lot.” I eye her. She raises her hands. “Oh, no. No fucking way.”

“Please, Bethany. You’re my best friend.”

“I hope not. You seem to be screwing those at the moment.”

“Just the one,” I say indignantly. “I’m not working my way through the whole group. Please,” I say imploringly. “You could do it. Everything’s ready. You’ll only need the alcohol to get it going, and I baked as well,” I add as an incentive.

She looks regretful. “Charlie, I would. You know that. But I can’t.” She hesitates. “I’ve got a date.”

“A date?” I say, staring at her. “Who with?” She wiggles uncomfortably, and I gasp. “Oh my God, it’s Rupert, isn’t it?” She nods. “Yes!” I cry. “That’s perfect.” I tilt my head. “But what changed your mind? You’ve always said a very definite no.”

She pleats the hem of her short plaid skirt with nervous-looking fingers. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “He’s not my normal type at all.”

“He’s not a wanker, you mean?”

“That’s the type I know best. I’m comfortable with them because there aren’t any false expectations. What am I going to do with someone who keeps his word and treats me nicely?”

“That bastard,” I breathe.

“I also don’t know what he sees in me,” she whispers. “I mean, he’s from a wealthy family. He’s clever and kind. What would he want with a sharp-tongued witch like me?”

“What?” I snap. “For a second I think you implied that he was better than you which can’t be true, because you might be a witch, Bethany Harrison, but you’re brilliant with it. You’re funny and sharp and clever and kind and beautiful. You’re the catch here. Not him.”

She flushes and nudges me. “Thank you, Charlie.” She looks undecided. “Maybe I should cancel,” she says. “Postpone the date. I could do your book club.”

“No way,” I say at once. She opens her mouth to argue, and I shake my head. “You’re going on that date. I want that for you. I’ll be fine with book club. I’ll just have to talk to Misha afterwards when I get home.”

If he’s there, I think morosely. And hasn’t fucked off for a shag with someone much less complicated than me.