‘No, no. I’m a little early. I’m just really excited to be here.’ Evie dug her fingernails into her palms.

‘I’m excited too. I think we’re going to gel fabulously,’ Florence trilled and handed Evie a coffee. ‘Here, I got you a long black.’

‘Thank you so much,’ Evie said, taking an eager sip despite already buzzing from her earlier caffeine hit.

‘Follow me,’ Florence said, smiling warmly.

Evie trotted obediently behind Florence as she pushed her way through the blue door and into a tiny office. Inside, two desks faced each other in the corner of the room. Beside them was a plasma TV screen, several video recorders and butcher’s paper with scribbles stuck up on every wall. Ben would love this! Evie thought, before pushing the thought away.

‘Plonk yourself here,’ Florence said, pointing to the desk with a lone cactus on it. ‘To begin, I thought I’d get you to read a screenplay I’m working on. It’s a romantic comedy and still needs a lot of work. Then you can let me know your thoughts, et cetera, et cetera.’ Florence waved her hand in the air and sat down opposite Evie. ‘I’m curious to see what you think. I really enjoyed the essay you sent over about how romance and feminism aren’t mutually exclusive. See if this one has the right balance between the two, would you?’

‘Yes, yes, absolutely. I would absolutely love that,’ Evie said enthusiastically. Calm down, crazy!

‘Wonderful. Glad to have you here, Evie,’ Florence said, her eyes already glued to her screen.

Later that day, Evie and Florence stood patiently in line at Pret, waiting to pay for their sandwiches. The morning had flown by, with Evie completely absorbed in the script she was reading. Florence hadn’t said much, aside from checking to see how she was going every hour or so, to which Evie always replied, ‘Great, thanks.’

At one o’clock, when Evie’s stomach had started growling, she asked Florence if she could duck down to Pret to grab something for them both. Florence replied with a smile, saying that she didn’t want to exploit Evie too much, and then threw on her coat to join her.

So here they were, one famous screenwriter and one lowly little intern, waiting in line. Evie clutched onto her egg sandwich for dear life, trying to fill every silence.

‘So, do you come here often?’ Evie asked, only half-joking.

‘To Pret?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Probably about once a week.’

‘Cool, cool,’ Evie replied.

Silence.

‘How do you feel about pioneering a new movement of female filmmakers?’

‘Oh, well, um, I guess, I feel good about it?’ Florence said, staring down at her falafel wrap.