‘No? Anyway, let’s find Geoff. He’s so excited about meeting you.’ She takes Yvonne by the wrist through to the kitchen, which looks out directly onto a brick wall, six feet away. The windowsill is covered with books on method acting and crinkly copies of the Guardian, there’s also a stick of IKEA lucky bamboo in a red jar.

‘Who’s Geoff?’

Emma finds a single plastic cup and then pulls a mug from the sink, emptying it of inflated Rice Krispies and giving it a quick rinse. ‘Geoff. Dude, wait till you meet him. He’s so fucking beautiful.’

‘You’ve been back five minutes, how have you managed to meet someone already?’

‘No, I met him before I flew to Kenya. Thought I told you? Talk about cure for a broken heart.’

Yvonne winces. Is that really what Emma thinks? That Lewis broke her heart?

‘I came to a house party here one night,’ Emma says, ‘can’t remember much of it, except ending up in Geoff’s bed. Didn’t think I’d see him again, but then a room came up and what can I say,’ she tucks a pink wisp of hair behind an ear, ‘it was meant to be. Seriously, like sharing a house with guys is so fun.’

Is that a dig?

‘You know, he’s not my usual type, but I thought about it a lot when I was away and I’ve got to choose better when it comes to guys. Anyway, why did you come alone? You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?’ Emma stares until Yvonne recoils. ‘Ha, I knew it. I can always tell with you.’

‘It’s nothing. Nothing serious.’

Emma nods. ‘Who cares about having something serious? You know Box Room Bethany is engaged to some freak she met while travelling?’ Emma hands over the plastic cup. ‘She called me earlier to drone on about true love. But I’m not interested. I want to hear some smut.’

‘Can we talk about something else? Tell me about Kenya. How were your parents?’

‘Oh, they were fucking awful.’

Yvonne instantly regrets asking about them. ‘How was the orphanage?’

Emma’s face lights up, ‘Life changing. Seriously, life changing. It’s really made me think about things, you know. And this backpacks idea, I’m completely over it. Those kids don’t need pencils, they need therapy.’

‘Therapy?’

‘Yeah, the level of mental suffering I saw out there was shocking. They’re just little kids and they’re dealing with all this shit and have no one to talk to about it.’

Yvonne gasps. ‘Yes, I can imagine you as a child therapist. You would be great at it.’

Emma’s care for others is her best quality; she would be amazing in a role like that.