‘I didn’t ask you,’ I grumble.

‘Speaking of which, where has the foxy face gear gone? Have you just spent hundreds on new glasses to return to the safety of contacts?’

‘They weren’t hundreds. And I should never have been talked into them. They weren’t me.’

‘They could have been,’ says Emma, sitting down opposite my desk. She looks at me with a face that suggests she knows me better than I know myself and I ruffle my fringe back down as if to prove a point. Emma takes a bite of her sandwich, looking smugger than someone with mayo on their cheek ever should. She leans across, dropping bacon from her sandwich on my desk. ‘Have you seen his arse, though?’

‘Emma!’

‘I know, I know,’ she says through a mouthful of BLT. ‘Inappropriate klaxon. It’s just, things have been a bit slow round these parts of late!’

I ignore the parts to which Emma is gesturing. ‘If you’re so interested, why don’t YOU hop on that bandwagon, as it very much were?’

‘What bandwagon?’ says Mark, suddenly standing in my office. Because of course – of course! – the bandwagon would arrive at the very moment we’re talking about it. My chest tightens at having almost been caught out. Emma, her face hidden from his view, goes wide-eyed and cocks her head, giving me the sign for has-it-just-got-hot-in-here, she’s all wafting nurse uniform and blown-out fringe.

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘No bandwagons. Now, what can I do for you?’

He eyes us both suspiciously. ‘I just wanted to let you know that the mental health team are coming in tomorrow for a meeting about Susan. I’d like you to attend it with me.’

‘I won’t be in until 1 p.m. tomorrow. I have an appointment in the morning. A bridesmaid dress fitting actually.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘I can try and change it?’ I offer, not daring to imagine Lou’s response if he says yes.

‘No, no, it’s fine. The afternoon is better anyway. I’ll make it 4 p.m.’

‘Of course, absolutely.’ I pick up my pen and scribble the details in my diary.

Mark looks between me and Emma, his mouth open as if to say more, then stops. ‘Great, thanks. See you tomorrow.’

‘Yep. See you tomorrow, 4 p.m. sharp,’ I reply, flipping my diary shut in an unnecessarily efficient fashion. ‘Have a good day,’ I finish, failing to lessen the pomp.

‘You too.’

He hovers, then exits, leaving Emma to whistle out loud. ‘Well, you could literally cut that with a knife!’

‘Cut what?’ I ask.

‘The sexual tension.’ She says it in the kind of way your mum would. Not really wanting to say the word sex out loud but not quite mouthing it either. ‘Surely you felt it!’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, get a grip, woman. Also, why have YOU gone pink?’

‘I haven’t,’ she says. ‘And fancy that, a manager swearing.’

‘I’m allowed. And also piss off.’

‘Power mad, that’s your problem.’ She bins her empty sandwich box. ‘Anyway, if you want to pretend you don’t want conjugals with the hot doc, let’s move on. What’s happening with Susan?’