The buzzer for Rowan’s building was broken, again, so I walked straight in and pressed the button for the lift. The mirror at the back of the space gave me a final opportunity to look myself over. My hair didn’t quite have the same lift as it had when I’d left. But city air will do that to you. Still, I smiled at my reflection and told myself for the umpteenth time that I was making an effort. I’d turned it into a mantra as though reminding myself of something. But what? I sighed and stepped out into the hallway, rushed along with the clicks of my heels for company, and tried to actively avoid thinking that godforsaken phrase. At least you’re making an …

I pounded the front door with more force than it required. And Ian answered.

‘Edi.’ He seemed surprised. ‘How’s it going?’

I mirrored his shock, though. ‘Ian, you’re … here.’

He laughed. ‘I live here.’

‘Who is it?’ someone shouted. But it wasn’t Rowan’s voice.

‘It’s Edi,’ Ian answered, and seconds later Monty appeared behind him.

‘Edi, you’re—’

‘Here,’ I finished, and tried to laugh. ‘I think we all know I’m here now.’

Monty laughed, too, but it sounded nervous. ‘How come you’re here?’ They both shifted awkwardly. Their figures were too large for the doorway, though, and with each shift they knocked together slightly. ‘Rowan isn’t here,’ Monty finally said. ‘He’s out.’

‘He’s …’ I exhaled hard. There was a sicky feeling in my throat. ‘It’s our date night,’ I said, and I saw their shared look of sincere panic. The realisation hit me like an early period; the shock of the stomach cramps and the horror of not having a liner, of having to walk home with your innards on your outwards and … ‘Oh.’

‘Edi …’ Monty nudged Ian to one side. ‘Fuck it, come in, would you?’ He gestured me in through their doorway. ‘We’re making chilli, okay? Would chilli be okay? Just come in.’ Monty ushered me into the living room with Ian not far behind us. When I’d landed in the centre of the sofa, Monty spoke over my head. ‘She likes wine. Would you see if we’ve got any?’

‘Should I text Rowan?’

‘No,’ Monty snapped. ‘Actually yeah, yeah text Rowan and tell him he’s a prick.’ He landed next to me on the sofa and put his hand out flat, as though it were an offering. I rested my palm on top of his and he closed his fingers around mine. ‘Edi, I’m sorry. He said he was going out for dinner, some girl or another. We just assumed—’ Ian coughed sharply from behind us. ‘Okay, whatever, I just assumed that you knew.’

I shook my head. ‘We made plans. He told me … He was going to cook dinner.’