‘Maybe it was.’

‘It was gazpacho.’

I guffaw.

‘You want high maintenance, she’s got it in spades. High maintenance stupidity in a fake Herve body con.’

‘Wow, Lou, don’t hold back! Still, if he can go out with someone like that, I’m not sure he’s really the man for me, you know? And as I keep telling you—’

‘I know. You don’t need or want one. You’re fine on your own. Cool, whatever. I just think it’d be nice for you, that’s all.’

I finish my dinner to a backdrop of Coronation Street. Lou updates me on the storyline, because apparently Deirdre was freed almost twenty years ago and I am out of touch. I nod in agreement as if I a) understand and b) care.

‘What’s that?’ She asks, nodding towards the room elephant that is Daniel’s last box of shit.

I glance at it dismissively. ‘Some bits and bobs he who shall not be named left behind. I texted him but didn’t hear back.’ Lou nods at the same old story. ‘So I’ve decided,’ I say, deciding on the spot. ‘I’m going to take it to him.’

‘You are?’ she says, stunned. She flicks her eyes forward, avoiding confrontation like you would a bear. Or a gorilla. Or someone with a really short fuse on all matters ex-boyfriend.

‘Yes,’ I say, refusing to expand. I’ve not entirely thought this through. But I do know that I am taking back control. I’m going to show him that he can’t just walk out and leave me without properly clearing up the mess. I’m going to just check whether he does or does not in fact have a new girlfriend so I can move on, or not, once and for all. Lou clears her throat. ‘I guess there’s no room for a plumber whilst an ex is knocking about.’

‘I don’t need room for a plumber, Lou.’

‘So you say.’ She looks at the box, nods in part approval and part, I suspect, recognition of my ulterior motive. She gets up with a groan, collects her mood boards and motions me to get up. ‘Look, I’m going. Got to swing by Daddy’s on the way home and ask him for extra cash for the horse-drawn carriage.’ She gives me a kiss. ‘Daniel is a loser who has inhaled quite enough of your life. It’s about time you cut loose.’

‘I’m cutting.’ I snip the air as she heads out the door.

‘And I’m getting roses tipped with glitter,’ she shouts. ‘See you tomorrow – eleven thirty, outside Debenhams!’

Back on the sofa, I wrap up in the sounds of my flat: next door’s telly plays the EastEnders theme tune; the guy upstairs pads around his room; a distant siren races from somewhere by the ice rink in the direction of Manor Top, and a police helicopter shortly follows. Through leaves on the trees, summer rain breaks. A welcome interruption to the stifling heat, the pressure. And in that second, something inside me breaks too. My own self-bound ties unpick, beginning to set me free. I grab my keys and bag, hulk the box onto my hip and let the front door swing shut behind me.