‘A few. He doesn’t exactly have a filter, and it can come off badly. But don’t get me wrong—the guy has a heart of gold. Last summer, we had this intern on our floor for a few months. Harry. Brendan took a real shine to him. The poor kid was in floods of tears one day—he was only about twenty—and Brendan took him out for a walk. Turns out his mum had suspected skin cancer, but the waitlist on the NHS for her to get biopsied was months and months.

‘Brendan forked out for her to see a private dermatologist and then for all her treatments after that. Turned out she did have skin cancer, and it cost thousands and thousands to get it sorted privately. But he didn’t bat an eye. He thinks nothing of stuff like that. He’s one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.’

I smile dreamily. So he’s a big softie when it counts. ‘I’m so happy to hear that.’

‘He definitely has his moments,’ she agrees, picking up her coffee. ‘But then he can also be a gigantic twat. My little boy was off sick loads last term, so I had to work from home. My job’s a lot more flexible than my husband’s. Anyway, Brendan made me feel really shitty for it. I was totally capable of getting the job done, but he behaved like such a baby because he had to go out and get his own lunch for a few days. He can be so self-absorbed sometimes. And don’t get me started on the way he treats women.’

I stiffen. Brendan’s multiple personalities are giving me whiplash. The lifesaver who forks out on medical treatment for a woman he doesn’t know, and the guy who has zero tolerance for accommodating working mothers. It’s a good wake up call, and a vindication of my decision to keep Tabby’s entire existence a secret, as well as abdicating her emergencies to my parents, no matter how wrong that feels on every single level.

And now another alarm bell is ringing.

‘How do you mean?’ I ask faintly.

‘Well, I probably shouldn’t say, given it’s not in your job scope to bother with this stuff, but his personal schedule needs... creative management. Last month, he somehow double-booked himself with two different women on the same night at the same restaurant.

‘I had to call one pretending to be from the restaurant, saying they had a gas leak. Then I sent flowers from him with a handwritten note I forged apologising for the cancellation and offering to reschedule at an even fancier place. She actually thanked him for being so thoughtful. I have no idea how he gets himself into these pickles, except that the sheer volume of women he goes through makes it hard for him to keep up with the details, I suppose.’