I’ll admit, my subconscious was carried away with my mother’s fantasy about what it would be like to fall in love with someone who wants to take care of me. Who makes me laugh. Who coaxes out the best in me. Who kinda makes me swoon. But after my dream, everything is clear. Of course, Harry is kind to me – he’s literally taken me by the hand and settled me into the new show, as he’d promised. As any good agent would. Ignoring the silly-heart nonsense, I’m sincerely grateful. As for anything else, we haven’t had a single conversation pertaining to romance. It’s all make-believe inside my head.

I pull the blanket up around me. Starting tomorrow, I need to sort myself out. No more foolish notions about anyone. And no matter what’s not right at home, no more jokes on television about my boyfriend – Jordan is upset I’ve made a public spectacle of him and I don’t blame him. It was fun and games in the studio, but what was I thinking? Perhaps, he isn’t the only one who’s selfish and career-obsessed?

The bad dream has shaken me. I decide, best to sleep out here on the sofa.

Benny curls against the back of my thighs and begins to purr.

16

In the morning, my neck has a crick from a restless night without a proper pillow or a comfy mattress. Dragging myself up from the sofa, I begin my day by banishing all thoughts of me running off with Harry – and Harry running off with Faith. I resolve to give it one last shot to recapture the magic I once had with Jordan. To summon the courage for an honest discussion, wherever that leads.

In the kitchen, the milk is out, lid off. Crumbs of Weetabix are over the table and a half-drunk cup of coffee is by the sink. It makes me rethink my last-shot plan. But no. Things weren’t always like this. Or if they were, Jordan gave me so much more in return, I didn’t mind.

Benny creeps out from the pantry. Having abandoned me at some point during the night, it seems he’s been sleeping in my potato stacker. He welcomes me with a rumbling purr. I crouch down and tickle his chin. I drop a handful of Royal Canin pellets in his cat-bowl.

Jordan is downstairs, working from home today.

‘You up, Grace?’ he yells up, hearing me pottering. ‘I can’t find the cat!’

‘He’s right here eating!’ I clear the table.

Jordan races up the stairs. ‘What? Oh, no. I need him to try the Pussy Paws flavours, so I can choose the best one for the ad.’

Benny doesn’t look up from his bowl. ‘Let him have his breakfast, Jordan. Also, Faith warned me he probably won’t eat anything but his special pellets.’