I carried the card around like a lucky talisman in the days after the drawing class. I’d done it, I kept thinking, I’d met someone, organically, and without the girls! But did it count? Rowan and I had talked about meeting other women and men respectively; was this cheating on our deal somehow? And it wasn’t until I was midway through this mess of convoluted sexual politics that I realised something even more confusing: I was actually thinking of calling her.

Since online dating had become such a hot topic, the group chat with the girls had become a stream of sordid screenshots. Faith would send the beginnings of a conversation to ‘show us how it was done’. Typically, this was followed by a message from Betty or Lily or sometimes both in tandem, as though they’d synced up their bad experiences with men, only their screenshots showed penises – with a well-placed emoji to hide some of the man’s modesty, not that any of them looked concerned with that in the pictures. It was the curse of being the cool girl, Betty had told me, that men didn’t take you all that seriously because they thought they could do or say anything without you flipping your shit.

Only in a bullshit patriarchy landscape is any of that valid or true, Lily wrote back.

Meanwhile, I responded with my single-word screenshots – ‘Hi’ – and queries on what I should write back; the general consensus being nothing at all.

Over brunch one Saturday morning, Lily explained through a mouthful of pancake, ‘You don’t have to write back to these men, Edi. You’re not obliged.’ She paused to swallow. ‘If they want to talk to you then they’re going to have to make an effort.’

‘Maybe they’re nervous?’ I suggested.

Betty laughed. ‘The fact that I just got another unsolicited dick pic as you said that is too well-timed for words. That’s the universe, that is.’ She dropped the handset on the table. ‘It’s also enough to put a girl off her bacon.’

‘I realise this is a dumb question,’ I started, not knowing whether that was in fact true. ‘But what’s a woman meant to do with that? Like, those pictures, I mean. Do men think women will fall over themselves like a Lynx advert and go flocking to their—’

‘Edi, I beg you not to finish that sentence.’ Faith looked about ready to heave.

‘I assume we’re meant to swoon,’ Lily answered, and Betty came in swift with support.

‘Swoon and ask them to ping their location.’

Molly waited until both women were chewing again before she asked, ‘Can I be the unpopular one and ask how things are going with Rowan at the minute?’

Lily rolled her eyes but Cora nudged her. ‘It’s a valid question.’