The sound of Merv clanging his tools and singing Jennifer Lopez songs fills the empty house. The doorbell goes and Yvonne walks through to answer it, expecting Emma, finally having come to her senses about wasting time with someone as dull as Terry. But it’s Lewis.

‘Emma’s not here,’ she blurts.

‘I didn’t come to see Emma. That’s done.’

‘So, what do you want?’

‘I came to get some stuff I left here. My sketchbooks. Got a meeting with a manufacturer later and need them.’ He starts to come in and she steps back so she won’t have to be close to him. Close enough to touch him or smell the aftershave he always wears far too much of.

‘They can’t be that important if you left them here all this time. It’s been three weeks.’

‘But who’s counting? Besides, I’ve kind of had other stuff going on.’ He looks at her, ‘My mum’s been unwell.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I—’

Singing floats down the staircase.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Landlord,’ she mouths.

‘The pervert? You here alone with him?’

‘He’s fixing a leak.’

‘Bet you’re glad I came by then.’ He kicks off his trainers and walks past her into Emma’s room. ‘This place is such a mess.’ He gestures to the unmade bed, the suitcase on the floor and carrier bags of clothes. ‘How can she live like this?’

‘She’s flying out Monday.’

‘Oh yeah, back to Africa.’ He picks at things on the desk, lifting piles of papers and books, copies of National Geographic and Time, the magazines Emma talked her parents into getting her subscriptions for yet never reads. Lewis scratches his head, as if about to give up, ‘How can she get anything done here? Disaster. A-ha.’ One by one he pulls the sketchbooks from the depths of the mess.

‘The blueprints for your fashion empire?’ She’s trying to sound smart. Not that he takes much notice; too busy flicking through his books smiling, happy to be reunited with them.

‘Yeah, something like that. Where is the Princess anyway?’

Should she say that Emma is out with someone else? That she’s moved on? ‘She’s got a job interview,’ she lies. ‘For an internship in the autumn.’

Lewis laughs. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

Merv has stopped singing upstairs and is now talking on the phone; his booming voice fills the awkward space between her and Lewis.

‘So, you’ve got your stuff and I need to get ready to go out, so…’ she trails off, the way he’s looking at her is unreadable. ‘What?’

‘I sent you a message,’ he says. ‘I called you, but you never answered.’

She takes a deep breath and leans back against the wall, ‘Emma’s my friend.’

‘I know that—’