I look at the newly printed cards.

Tilly’s revelation – that if things go wrong she’ll figure it out – is so refreshing. I’ve always been more of a planner. But I think somewhere along the way the planning morphed into worrying.

Maybe I could be more like Tilly.

But she was wrong about one thing. I haven’t ‘gone for it’ with my cards, and if I gave her the impression that I have, then I’m a bigger pretender than I even realize. They’re stocked in a total of two local shops, the same two shops that have always stocked them, and I haven’t put any real money or time into them since I started; even my screen printer now looks tired.

But I could go for it.

I’ve been so absorbed in my cards that I have no idea what time it is. I look at the clock in the kitchen. I say ‘kitchen’, but in reality the kitchen is also the lounge, the dining room, the craft area, the storage space and the laundry room. It’s an efficient way to live.

It is almost time for me to think about dinner, which is fine as I have no more space for any more cards. I know I have paint over my hands, and probably most of my face. I’ll need a quick bath-time before food-time.

With the steam lending an air of mystery to the bathroom, I test out the water before dropping in.

I stay in the bath until my fingers are acceptably wrinkly, but as soon as I get out, I hear a knock on my door. For a split second I think I’m about to be murdered. A knock on the door this late on a Sunday, or indeed at any time of day unless I’m getting something delivered, is unprecedented. But rationally, being murdered is probably even less likely. Besides, I don’t know if murderers knock.

I dry as quickly as I can, put my underwear on so I don’t feel completely unprotected, and throw my dressing gown over the top.

I can’t help but note the irony of opening my own front door in (almost) nothing but my dressing gown, and I’m relieved to see Mia on the other side. If I had to soak an appendage in front of anyone, it would be her.

‘Mia! Gosh, sorry, I forgot that you were coming round.’ I assume I have forgotten plans, and panic that I was meant to have prepped some food. I only have leftover cheese.

‘We hadn’t planned anything, but I thought I would chance it, see if you were in. I was right around the corner, picking up some shoes.’

‘It’s Sunday evening, of course I’m in.’ I say this much more welcomingly than I feel. I hope she can’t tell that I don’t particularly want her here.

Not that I don’t like seeing her – I do, but I’m not prepared, mentally or physically. My house is a mess. I’ve just had a bath. I’m in Sunday evening wind-down mode. Not Sunday evening talk-to-people mode. Even if that person is my best friend.