Evie squeezes her friend’s shoulder once more, kissing her cheek, and then they work in companionable silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually Magda announces: ‘I’ve just been thinking lately that I just wish one of us did something really wrong, you know? Committed fraud or didn’t disclose a secret family or even had just a simple, straightforward affair with a secretary.’

‘You don’t have a secretary,’ Evie points out.

‘Jamie does.’

‘Do some digging? Maybe you’ll get lucky, and he’s been sleeping with her after all.’

‘She’s a lesbian,’ Magda points out. ‘But thanks for brainstorming options with me.’

‘Any time.’ Evie winks.

With a flourish, Magda proudly fondles the expertly folded clothes she’s organised, cute sweaters and matching wool hats and festive scarves, declaring: ‘At least I’m good at this, if nothing else.’

‘You’re my hero for getting through it,’ Evie says, eyeing her. ‘And I don’t mean the packing – though it is pretty spectacular. I think the fact that you are still standing after what you’ve been through means we should build a statue in your honour. Seriously. You and Jamie have both been so sensible and nice to each other. It almost makes me want to give it a try.’

‘You’d have to get married first,’ says Magda.

Evie pulls a face. ‘A sticking point,’ she concedes.

Magda looks skyward – not even God can help Evie engage romance in real life – before taking a break to climb onto the bed. As she crosses her legs Evie’s dog, Doctor Dolittle, sees the invitation for snuggles, leaping up to nestle in Magda’s lap. Evie needs to drop him at the doggy hotel shortly. She adds it to her growing mental list.

‘I’d do it again,’ Magda says, ruffling the fur between Doc’s ears. ‘One day. I think. With somebody more … you know. If there was more passion involved, not just a shared interest in a Netflix series.’

‘Oh, well then, two for you, none for me. You can have my wedding.’

‘I don’t think they’re rationed out,’ Magda quips.

‘Maybe they should be.’

‘But Carl is so nice. Don’t you ever think …’

Evie tuts dramatically. ‘Carl and I have an agreement, and it involves two lives, two nights a week and two hours together. Don’t judge what you don’t understand, thankyouverymuch.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ says Magda with an odd raise of the eyebrows that conveys her absolute judgement without another word. Magda says she just wants Evie to be happy, to which Evie often replies: stop hassling me about it, then. Even in divorce, her best friend still believes in happy endings, which is ironic considering it’s Evie who writes the romances.