The guy was an experimental artist, who made things out of discarded crisp packets and chocolate wrappers. Now don't get me wrong, there are people who make art from discarded materials all the time, and it's wonderful. This guy’s stuff, though, looked like something that an eight-year-old might have created. He thought he was the next coming of the modern art movement. Unlike many of Jade's conquests, he possessed plenty of money due to a trust fund he was burning his way through. The first time I met him, I took an instant dislike to him, and was quite open and honest with Jade about my feelings. A few weeks later, she ended the relationship because she said he was too intense. When I asked her what she meant, she said that he was ringing her all the time and wanting to see her everyday, and she just couldn't hack it.

“Yeah, that's the one,” she says. “He's been bothering me.”

“What do you mean by bothering you?”

She runs her fingers through her long, thick hair and blows out of breath. “It started with him texting, calling, and leaving messages. At first, they were stupid things. I'd be sitting there in the evening, and he'd message to ask if I was watching the same TV show for example. Or he'd message pictures of whatever it was he was eating for his evening meal. I ignored him or tried to. Now and again, I sent him a brief reply because I felt weirded out by it and didn't want to antagonize him, but I also didn't want to encourage him. I've had enough of him, and that's why I ended the relationship.”

She swigs her beer before continuing. “Anyway, about a week ago, I left my house and there was a bunch of flowers on the bonnet of my car. There was a note from him that said that he was missing me and thinking about me. I've been getting the flowers every day since. Always in a different place. Sometimes on my car. Sometimes in the hallway of my apartment building, and even at work. What's really freaked me out, though, is that yesterday I didn't get the flowers. I thought maybe he'd finally given up. On my way home I popped into my usual coffee shop to grab a drink like I always do. The barrister gave me a strange look, and after giving me my coffee, he hands me this bunch of flowers from behind the bar. He said this guy had dropped them off and insisted that I get them.”

None of this sounds very good, and I wrap my hands around my bottle as I wait for her to continue.