It never is. Jordan gets in late from his office and, usually, he heads straight down into our basement, more often than not with Robert in tow. My offers of sausage rolls and other home-baked snacks are well received. But it’s clear I’m not welcome to loiter. Most of the time they’re not even working; they’re playing an awful zombie apocalypse game that hurts my ears from wherever I am inside the flat. I’m curious to know when, exactly, is a good time for me to interrupt my boyfriend?

‘Jordan, did you feel compelled to wear your underpants to bed last night?’ I ask. ‘Or did you just, you know, forget to undress properly?’

I swear to you, it slips out.

For some time, there’s a silence that neither of us fills.

‘Grace, I really haven’t got time for this.’

‘Jordan, I know…’

When Jordan hangs up, my tears are streaming. There isn’t a mega-hot chilli in sight.

4

I stay put on the ladder for some time after the phone call with Jordan ends. I can’t believe I phoned my boyfriend at his work to talk about his underwear. I hope Jordan has the decency not to mention the specifics to anyone – with some of the office gossip he’s repeated to me, I can’t be sure he won’t.

However, now is not the time to be skulking in a cleaner’s cupboard with remorse. I have a meeting to attend on which my job depends. The clock is ticking.

I’m back in front of the basins when Poppy floats in.

‘There you are! You disappeared? I looked for you in here. I looked for you everywhere,’ she says. ‘Miss Gracie, are you okay?’

Barelegged in her cut-off overalls, Poppy must have disposed of her vomit-soiled tights, her boots wiped clean. I honestly don’t know how she manages to be so nice to me.

‘I’m okay, Poppy.’

Albeit, I look worse than before. In the mirror, I see my complexion has reddened from deathly-pale to scarlet. Mascara streaks now run down my cheeks. My hair is plastered in sweaty patches against my scalp as if I’m suffering from an exotic tropical disease. I’d go home if I didn’t have this bloody meeting.

‘Obviously, I look a sight…’

‘Are you well enough to make this meeting?’ Poppy asks, concerned.

Poppy doesn’t need to know I’m more emotionally upset than physically ill at this point. She’s a sweet kid. But I don’t share intimate details of my personal life with her. I don’t need her to know about my problems with Jordan.

‘I’ll make the meeting, and I’ll do my absolute best. I know this all very much affects you and the crew, too, Poppy.’ A burden I’m carrying seriously.