‘I’m on the phone with Faith,’ I call back. ‘We’re watching the first episode of our new show. Whatever you’re doing, will you please clear the line!’

The line clears.

‘Sorry about that,’ I say to Faith.

‘It’s okay.’

I settle back against the comfy cushions on the sofa.

Jordan walks in front of the television, Robert in tow. Instantly, I grab the remote and mute the sound.

‘Um, yes, boys? What do you want?’ I try to sound casual, but my voice is clippity-clop. ‘Your sausage rolls are cooking. I’ll bring them down when they’re ready. There’s no need to mill around.’

‘We’re sorry,’ Robert says, their faces sheepish. ‘We didn’t know.’

‘I forgot,’ Jordan admits. He seems sincere. Pity his timing is wrong.

‘It’s fine. Boring cooking stuff, really. I know how hard you’re both working.’ I glance at the television. ‘Go on, the pair of you. I’ll bring the food down in a bit.’

‘Let them watch,’ Faith says in my ear. She’s tipsy.

The boys have turned to face the television, where Faith is licking a spoon of cream. Robert’s jaw drops open.

‘Who’s that?’

‘My best friend.’

He looks at Jordan. ‘Cat lady?’

‘Sorry?’ I say.

‘Didn’t you say you’d ask Faith if we can borrow her cat?’ Jordan reminds me.

He’d asked if he could borrow Faith’s cat – something to do with the new account. I’d said I’d ask, but I forgot.

‘We told the client Robert has a cat.’ Jordan’s posture tenses.

‘I’d quite like a cat,’ Robert says.

‘We need to really get what it is to be a cat for this pitch,’ Jordan explains. ‘Would you ask Faith if we could borrow it tomorrow night?’

‘Him,’ I hiss, covering the phone. ‘Benny, in fact. Not “it”.’

I check the goings on on the television. Depending on how this has been edited, Faith is shortly to return from the refrigerator holding her stonking big aubergine. I probably have about one minute before I get going with my chipolata.

‘Faith, remember I asked you about us cat-sitting Benny, so Jordan can get some cat-familiarity for a new account? Is that still okay?’

‘Jordan hates cats. I didn’t agree to anything of the sort.’

‘Perhaps tomorrow?’ I nod at Jordan. I need to wrap this up and get rid of them. In my ear, Faith warns I’m starting to get on her nerves. ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I agree.

‘Boys, it’s all fine, cat-wise. Go on, scoot.’

They ignore me in favour of watching Faith comparing the length of the carrot to the chunkier courgette. Thank heavens I shut off the sound!

‘What are you cooking?’ Jordan asks.

‘Gnocchi.’ I think fast. ‘But Faith’s a terrible cook. The worst. She doesn’t know a carrot from a courgette. I’m teaching her all sorts.’