My brain is whirring. If Joanna wants Faith, she may not want me without her. Despite Faith’s throw-away line about joining me ‘for the hoot’, Faith probably won’t leave her lucrative job in venture capital to work on a sexed-up cookery show for SC6 – this isn’t the BBC on offer. Such thoughts begin to bother me profusely, regardless of whether I want to do the blasted thing or not.

Why the devil hasn’t Faith called me?

‘There’s no problem, Harry.’

‘Splendid. Can you meet sharpish? Faith is good for noon today, at my office on Piccadilly.’

‘Noon is fine,’ I say.

I’m meeting Liz Martin, journalist, later today in Mayfair. Liz writes for the weekend home and garden pull-out of the Daily that includes recipes from episodes of Gracie Porter’s Gourmet Get-Together. Gosh knows what I’ll say to her today, given the state of play with my work. A problem to solve later. Let’s get these painkillers kicking in first.

‘I’m at 24 Haymarket,’ Harry says.

‘I know the street.’

‘Marvellous! Looking forward to meeting you, Gracie.’

‘I’ll be there with bells on,’ I say, unplugging the landline.

7

After the Nurofen kicks in, I take a hot shower and get dressed into my favourite dark denim jeans and blue sweater. Discovering my Jimmy Choo heels scattered down the hallway – not in pristine condition, but not damaged – I brush them off, put them back in their felt bag and into my wardrobe. It takes me longer to find my mobile phone, slid right under the sofa. My drunken stupor last night.

I check my mobile. No messages.

I still can’t remember how I got into bed?

In the kitchen, Jordan has left his usual mess. Toast crumbs, strawberry jam and a block of butter on the bench. An abandoned bowl of cereal on the table. A load of his wet washing in the machine. I don’t take care of my boyfriend’s dirty clothes. But if I don’t hang his wet washing out or put it in the dryer for him, he’ll leave it for days, until it smells like a swamp. Popping softener into the drawer, I run a quick rinse cycle to refresh the load.

Not for the first time, I contemplate that picking up after my boyfriend like I’m his mother can’t be great for our romantic life – it certainly doesn’t do much for my libido.