‘It’s great for her,’ Jo said. ‘But not so great for me.’

‘Well, you know you always have a bed under our roof. Always. We’ll sort something out. We always do. You keep your chin up, Jo. I promise it will be okay.’

There was something in the way her dad spoke that calmed her. If he said it would be okay, she knew it would be okay.

When she finished the chat, she felt infinitely better and decided that she might as well make the most of the day.

Having showered and dressed quickly in black skinny jeans and a grey sweater, Jo left the house, grabbing her bag, phone and keys on the way out.

It was a bright, sunny morning. There was still a nip in the air, early spring being more of a promise than a reality, but it was a nice day for a walk and it would do her good to clear her head.

She’d walk along the river to the city centre and maybe she’d treat herself to a delicious coffee, or something nice to wear. She might pop into the library for an hour, and think about her next big story. Whatever she’d do, it would be something just for her.

Having slipped her earbuds in, she scrolled through her Spotify to find her ‘feel-good’ playlist and walked out to Jackie Wilson singing about love lifting him higher. She could feel her mood lift in harmony with the music. It would be okay. She knew it. And even if Ewan McLachlan didn’t love her work, she’d just use that to try harder. Of course, she would cry and swear a bit first, but it wouldn’t put her off writing. Her dream was to be published, but she got so much joy just from the process of writing that, no matter what, she wouldn’t be giving it up.

Lost in her own world, listening to Beyoncé’s ‘Love On Top’ and daydreaming about being able to sing and dance with half the style of Queen Bey, Jo was not expecting the tap on her shoulder which pulled her out of her reverie and made her swear.

Startled, she spun around to see who was behind her and was momentarily flummoxed to see that it was Lorcan Gallagher, his blonde, floppy hair floppier than ever, his head tilted to one side and his hands raised as if in surrender.

He started to speak, but Beyoncé had just hit one of her many impressive key changes and was bellowing in her ears loudly. Jo pulled her earbuds out, somewhat reluctantly.

‘Sorry,’ he said, his hands still raised. ‘I did try calling you, but you were clearly listening to music.’ He glanced at her earbuds. ‘Vintage Beyoncé, I’m digging the retro vibe.’