Gratefully accepting her latte, Evie knew she had to be as upbeat as possible. Taking his hand and kissing him on the forehead, she started out with the positives and things that were working, using the new industry lingo she’d picked up at uni, and saw Hugo look hopeful for the first time in weeks. They chatted light-heartedly about a few minor elements and then Evie paused and prepared to broach the things that weren’t gelling quite so well.

‘Okay, let’s focus on capturing the heart and spirit of the story. You don’t need to adapt every single chapter. For instance, the chapter where Ryan visits Hettie’s family for the second time in the basement. It’s a lovely chapter for the book, but it’s basically all first-person narrative, which won’t work for film. Plus, cutting it won’t affect the plot overall.’

Hugo looked at Evie as if she were Moses delivering him the ten commandments.

‘That’s so helpful, Evie.’ His whole demeanour transformed in an instant. ‘You’re so talented.’

Evie smiled, somewhat impressed with herself as well.

‘What else do you think I should cut?’ he asked.

‘Well,’ she said, scrolling through his manuscript onscreen. ‘Let’s start from the beginning. Chapter one is practically all Ryan’s thoughts. We can’t adapt that, and it’s not exciting.’ When Hugo looked devastated, she quickly apologised and continued, feeling like she was on a roll. ‘Let’s open on the bombs instead. I know that’s meant to come a third of the way into the book, but I think if we start there, it’ll be much more dramatic. Better for film, you know?’

Hugo squinted at the screen. ‘So how would we do that?’

Evie began typing, describing the bombs, and the way it would sound to the audience. ‘Ryan’s first words could be something like, “I knew this was coming. We all knew this was coming”.’

Hugo nodded again eagerly, gesturing for her to continue typing. Thrilled at the shift in Hugo’s mood, Evie typed away furiously, pouring her vision onto the page. She made changes to the screenplay that weren’t even part of the original one, but that she’d always thought would make it a better film. Hugo ate up her every word, praising her on her magnificent mind, and for a moment she let herself believe it.

At intervals, Evie tried to engage Hugo in discussion, wanting to help translate his thoughts into the screenplay. But apart from expressing his immense appreciation, he took a back seat, scrolling through his phone and at times simply looking stiff with panic. By early afternoon, after several more coffees, Evie was exhausted but the screenplay was starting to take shape.