Especially Harry. I’ve come to realise that we have nothing in common at all. He likes expensive restaurants and seeing and being seen. I prefer not having to dress up all the time, and I’d be happy in McDonalds if it was with the right person. Harry is not that person. The only reason we’ve lasted these last few months is because I’ve been too knackered to have the row that will break us up.

The door opens, and Harry appears. He’s still dressed in his suit, and with his blond hair ruffled by the breeze, he looks as gorgeous as ever. His eyes immediately search the room, and when they land on me, he looks fed up.

“What on earth do you look like, Charlie?” he says disapprovingly.

“Sorry?” I ask, startled.

He looks me up and down. “You look awful.”

“I’m just tired,” I say coolly. “It happens to a lot of people.”

He shakes his head and dumps his bag on the bed. “How on earth can you be tired? You’re a librarian, not a heart surgeon. What could possibly make you tired? Overdue books?”

“Maybe it’s the worry of what danger befalls people who are criminally patronising,” I offer.

His brow furrows. “Sorry,” he says, crossing the room and drawing me into a hug. I stay stiff, and he kisses my hair. “It’s been a rough week for me, and I was looking forward to seeing you, but you look terrible.”

There’s a faint accusatory tone in his voice. As if it’s totally my fault that I look bad and have managed to spoil his day.

I push back. “Would it be helpful if I try and do better?” I say, unable to conceal the flippancy. “Maybe if I look better, then your day will improve.”

Incredibly, he nods. “You’re such a gorgeous man, Charlie. You need to take better care of your looks. It’s worth the effort.”

I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing, but he seems unconcerned. He kisses the side of my face, his breath hot. “So fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, running his hand through my hair. Unfortunately, he catches his fingers in a knot and has to struggle to get free. He draws back a little, and for a second I think he’s going to make a joke. Misha totally would. Instead, he frowns. “I don’t think you’ve even brushed your hair today.”

“Goodness, what a silly ninny I am,” I say mildly. “I hope my underwear is on the right way round.”