God, I can’t have it going back to my parents that I work in a shop. They’ll think I’ve been lying about my entire life in London and that secretly I’m broke and living in squalor.

“Research,” I say quickly. “I’m a journalist, actually.”

“Rebecca’s a financial journalist,” says Tom. “Really knows her stuff.”

“Oh, right,” says Lucy, and I give her a supercilious smile.

“Mum and Dad always listen to Rebecca,” says Tom. “Dad was talking about it just the other day. Said you’d been very helpful on some financial matter. Switching funds or something.”

I nod vaguely, and give him a special, old-friends smile. Not that I’m jealous, or anything—but I do feel a little twinge seeing Tom smiling down at this Lucy character who, frankly, has very boring hair, even if her clothes are quite nice. Come to think of it, Tom’s wearing quite nice clothes himself. Oh, what’s going on? This is all wrong. Tom belongs in his starter home in Reigate, not prancing around expensive shops looking halfway decent.

“Anyway,” he says. “We must get going.”

“Train to catch?” I say patronizingly. “It must be hard, living so far out.”

“It’s not so bad,” says Lucy. “I commute to Wetherby’s every morning and it only takes forty minutes.”

“You work for Wetherby’s?” I say, aghast. Why am I surrounded by City high-flyers?

“Yes,” she says. “I’m one of their political advisers.”

What? What does that mean? Is she really brainy, or something? Oh God, this gets worse and worse.

“And we’re not catching our train just yet,” says Tom, smiling down at Lucy. “We’re off to Tiffany first. Choose a little something for Lucy’s birthday next week.” He lifts a hand and starts twisting a lock of her hair round his finger.

I can’t cope with this anymore. It’s not fair. Why haven’t I got a boyfriend to buy me stuff in Tiffany’s?

“Well, lovely to see you,” I gabble. “Give my love to your mum and dad. Funny they didn’t mention Lucy,” I can’t resist adding. “I saw them the other day, and they didn’t mention her once.”

I shoot an innocent glance at Lucy. But she and Tom are exchanging looks again.

“They probably didn’t want to—” begins Tom, and stops abruptly.

“What?” I say.

There’s a long, awkward silence. Then Lucy says, “Tom, I’ll just look in this shop window for a second,” and walks off, leaving the two of us alone.

God, what drama! I’m obviously the third person in their relationship.

“Tom, what’s going on?” I say, and give a little laugh.

But it’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s still hankering after me. And Lucy knows it.

“Oh God,” says Tom, and rubs his face. “Look, Rebecca, this isn’t easy for me. But the thing is, Mum and Dad are aware of your . . . feelings for me. They didn’t want to mention Lucy to you, because they thought you’d be . . .” He exhales sharply. “Disappointed.”