‘Convenient that I’ve got loads of my own cash and a fourteen-year-old investor who’s completely in love with you,’ Veronica said, her creaky voice warming up with what sounded like a smile.

‘Would it be ethical?’ I asked, holding out my hand and feeling another raindrop fall. ‘I mean, to have Max invest in it?’

‘Probably not but since I’m in charge of his finances, I’m not terribly worried,’ she replied. ‘The only problem we have is if you shit the bed and lose all his money. Here’s how I see it, you’re an intelligent woman, Ros. An intelligent woman who is passionate about what she does. For fuck’s sake, you very nearly got a half-decent podcast out of a grumpy teenage game player who likes to wear animal masks. How impressive is that?’

‘Quite impressive?’

‘And if that’s not enough, I’m an even more intelligent woman with a lot of business savvy behind me,’ she continued, selling herself on the idea as she went. ‘I know how to make things work. And you’re right, there are a lot of stories out there and someone should be telling them. Stories by women, stories for women, fuck it, even stories by men who aren’t shit-scared of women. Not that I’ve ever met many of those. Someone should be doing it.’

‘And that someone is me and you,’ I told her, a thrill running through me, all thoughts of PodPad and Washington and the past fading away. Failures were only failures if you didn’t learn from them and I had learned so much. See? I had learned something useful from Starting Over. ‘You don’t have to decide right now,’ I said. ‘But—’

‘Fuck it, let’s do it.’

A loud cheer was followed by a heavy cough and the flick of a cigarette lighter.

‘Seriously?’ I hopped up and down on the spot, registering a few strange looks from people passing by. Nothing like an adult bridesmaid doing a jig in the middle of Borough Market outside in the rain to attract attention.

‘Get your arse to the Snazzlechuff compound at nine a.m. Monday and we’ll start our plan of attack before I have to drag my arse around Hogwarts for a week,’ she confirmed. ‘Now, are you sure you’re out for Florida?’

‘I’m sure,’ I replied, looking sadly up at the grey sky.

‘All right then,’ she replied. ‘Fuck off and enjoy your Saturday, I’ll see you Monday morning.’

And the call ended with a beep.

I dashed back towards Good Luck Bar right as the rain began to fall again in earnest.

‘Be still my beating heart, Rosalind Reynolds, you look spectacular.’

Right as Patrick appeared.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, swiping a damp strand of hair off my face and taking him in: the hopeful smile, his beautiful grey suit, his light pink shirt and big black umbrella.