He sniffs. “Well, normally your house is as arid and dry as the fucking Sahara Desert. Now, however, it has Charlie. And cake,” he finishes reverently.

I instantly remember my quest to find the source of the smell. “Oh God, has he baked?” I groan.

Jesse nods enthusiastically. “I’ve missed Charlie so much,” he says. “So, so much. Living with Zeb just isn’t the same.”

“Maybe you should have moved in with Mary Berry then,” his boyfriend says, rolling his eyes.

“Never,” Jesse says robustly. “She doesn’t fill out a pair of jeans like you, Zeb.”

I shake my head and look at Rupert. “And you?” I say helplessly. “Why are you here?”

“Misha!” Charlie says in a shocked voice. “Oh my God, if tact were an artform you’d be painting with your own bodily waste.”

Felix throws his head back and laughs. “Oh Charlie, I do love you so, and it’s for exactly these tiny moments.”

I glare at my cousin and then focus on Charlie. He’s dressed in jeans and an amber-coloured crewneck jumper that makes his hair seem even blonder than usual. His face is flushed, probably from the oven, and he looks better than I’ve seen him in ages. I immediately promise myself that I’ll have people over more often if it keeps him looking like this. Then I focus on the plate he’s carrying.

“Oh my God, is that your boozy Black Forest cake?” I say through a mouthful of drool.

He nods. “We’re watching The Great British Bake Off and eating cake.”

“It’s genius,” Jesse offers.

“And you like The Great British Bake Off?” I say to Zeb.

He shrugs. “Well, I like cake.”

I can’t blame him. Charlie is the best baker I’ve ever known. In fact, he’s fantastic about cooking all round. But it’s his cakes that people love. This particular one is my favourite. It’s dark and rich, filled with layers of fluffy sponge, cream, and the black cherry jam that his mum makes.

“Can’t you just take a piece and go home?” I say to the happy group of idiots on my new sofa. I consider the TV where the show’s jaunty theme has started to play. “And watch something else. Something good.”

“You don’t like The Great British Bake Off?” Felix sounds as insulted as if I’ve just said that his shoes don’t match his outfit.

My eyes narrow. “I’m not so sure whether it’s the programme, the chance of cake, Charlie’s company, or using my shower that’s drawing you here.”

“You’re so suspicious.” He shrugs when I give him a pointed look. “I am a multi-faceted person. It can’t be denied.” I stare some more, and he slumps. “Okay, I’m a multi-faceted person who lives on a narrowboat with a very tiny water tank.”