‘A total arse. He hasn’t stopped bombarding me with texts to meet for a drink,’ Faith says. ‘Not sure what that whole meet-my-model-girlfriend was about.’ Unfussed, she shows us a picture Toby had messaged to her from New York Central Park. He’s in a horse-drawn carriage with a bunch of banker-looking blokes. His message says he’d rather Faith was with him. ‘He’ll be here in a month. He’s working on a big deal that will put him in London for weeks and weeks.’ Faith’s face lights up.

‘Staying in your spare room?’

‘Not permanently. I don’t want to rush things. But I sincerely hope he’ll be popping by often.’ She smiles. ‘And not, despite your best efforts, Gracie, for my cooking.’

‘What are you going to do about your job?’ Faith’s sabbatical was only for three months. She’s halfway.

‘Maybe I won’t go back. The show’s going well. I’m having fun. I love working with you two.’

‘I love it too,’ Poppy chirrups.

‘Me three,’ I say.

The adventures so far on our funny little dating-cooking show have pushed me way beyond my old limits. There have been highs and lows to come of it. It’s also been the most fun I’ve had in a long time.

‘Let’s make Eat Me such a hit that Joanna won’t let us leave,’ Faith declares.

We clink glasses. Water for me. Champagne, but not by the bottle, for the others.

Though it’s early days, the show is going smashingly. I hope Joanna keeps us on. Unlike Faith, I don’t have other options.

To Poppy’s disappointment, she hasn’t spotted Drake anywhere at his party this evening. Apparently, there’s another area for the Very Very Important People, where the barman said he’s hanging quietly with people he knows. Acknowledging it’s a fair enough thing to do, how being so incredibly famous Drake must be exhausted by the stream of strangers seeking his company, Poppy suggests we leave him to it, no argument from me.

When I get home, Jordan isn’t asleep on the rug on the floor. He isn’t in the flat – though his sports bag of clothes is beside the wet sofa.

He returns late the following evening, Sunday, after I’ve gone to bed, having texted to say he was stuck in the office all day but would try not to disturb me later.

Now we’re not together, Jordan hasn’t once played his noisy shooting zombies’ game on the X-box and he leaves the kitchen spick and span, every time. It doesn’t make me want him back. It makes me wish we broke up months ago.