‘Do you want some food?’

‘Um, yeah. Thanks. Only if there’s enough.’

I sprinkle some sumac on the broccoli I steamed as a side.

‘There’s plenty.’ I set out more cutlery and another plate and we sit at the table and eat.

Silence reigns. I’m on my laptop, a ten-year-old MacBook, sending flowers and an apology to June Whitbury. I also send a big bunch of lilies to my mother, which will make her whole house fragrant for days.

Jordan clears his throat. ‘Grace, I think I can line up something next week, but I don’t have anywhere to stay just yet. Do you mind if I take the sofa? Just until I can sort a place.’

I shut my computer. ‘The sofa will be wet for days. You can’t sleep there.’

‘I can sleep on the rug, on the floor. I don’t mind making do.’

How noble! I don’t scream.

‘Sure. You can have the extra duvet.’ I’m not offering him half of my bed. Jordan wasn’t sleeping in it when he could do. ‘But I want you packed up and moved out within the week.’

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear, by the look on his face, Jordan wishes things could be different. He looks… regretful. All at sea. I guess it’s true what they say: you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

‘I can keep myself scarce until then. I can work from the office. Where’s your party this evening? You look nice, Grace.’

‘Marylebone. Chiltern Firehouse. It’s a party hosted by Drake. Poppy is beyond delirious.’

‘Drake. Wow. You’ve hit the big time.’

Jordan is impressed. I’d sooner crawl into bed and skip the big time altogether. Aware of both my physical state and my sentiments, Faith suggested we could walk in, get our pictures taken and walk out again. I’d told her Poppy was so excited to see him, I’ll stick to water and stay as long as possible. I was quite rude to them both at The Tricycle Club, abandoning them for Harry’s sisters. I want to make amends.

‘I can’t believe you’re buying the flat,’ Jordan says.

‘The circumstances could have been better, but it’s a sensible thing to do. I’m happy about it. It’s the right thing.’

Jordan nods. Again, sadly. I don’t care. He had his chance. He blew it.

I drop my dirty dish in the sink and go to the bathroom to clean my teeth. I apply fresh lipstick. When I reappear in the kitchen, Jordan is doing the washing up.

‘I’m off,’ I say. What else to say to an ex-boyfriend who I’m still living with? Jordan doesn’t need to know when I’ll be in. Or if I’ll be in (I will be).