So that was that particular disaster avoided, thank goodness, and Craig had written something charming instead about how he and Fergus had made biscuits together, and how Fergus hadn’t wanted to eat the one he’d made shaped like a train, and how they were going to enjoy watching it grow mouldy over the weeks, in the hope that it would end up as blue as Thomas the Tank Engine. But Frankie knew that all those nasty words about his ex were still there, inside her partner – and if they hadn’t made it into print this time, then they could very well end up being shouted at her in person across a courtroom. Which was not something to look forward to, either.

Get in touch when you want to discuss this like an adult, Julia had said, or something along those lines, when she’d first rocked up at the flat. And yet nobody had really behaved like an adult since then, opting instead for juvenile point-scoring and petulant name-calling. Craig might not want to speak to his ex, but maybe she could, Frankie thought, remembering the phone number in her pocket. If she was gutsy enough. Was she?

‘Just going to take the recycling down,’ she called, having loaded up the council-provided bag, without a huge amount of help from Fergus. Then, on impulse, she grabbed her phone too, her mind racing. Should she? Well, could she really make things any worse? she wondered as she lugged the bag down to the ground-floor communal bins. She’d felt so sidelined by Craig throughout this process, so un-consulted, when he hadn’t once asked her opinion. And yet, from her position as onlooker, she couldn’t help thinking he was making an absolute pig’s ear of it all.

Down in the courtyard, she dumped the recycling into the correct bins, then stood there in the sunshine, trying to decide what to do. Sod it, she thought after a few moments. Yesterday with Paula had gone well – it had proved that when women just got on with stuff together, you could sort anything out. And so, before she could change her mind again, she walked away from the stinking bins, perched on a low brick wall and dialled Julia’s number. You’ve got guts, she reminded herself. That’s a good thing!

‘Hello?’ she heard after the third ring.

It was weirdly similar to yesterday’s call, really – Frankie’s heart in her mouth, her palms suddenly clammy, hoping she was doing the right thing by phoning. ‘Julia, this is Frankie,’ she said politely. ‘I was wondering if maybe the two of us could meet up and talk.’

Julia gave a low chuckle. ‘Interesting,’ she replied, sounding amused as she dragged out the syllables. ‘I take it Craig doesn’t know about this?’

‘Um . . . no,’ Frankie admitted.

‘Even better. Ooh, this will sound good, won’t it – even his girlfriend is plotting against him. Bad luck, Craig!’