I couldn’t talk about that. I never had. I think if I’d had a baby since, I would have been okay, but that memory of losing my only child was like having a painful tooth; I couldn’t help probing it but each time the pain overcame me.

Harry was quiet then and I wondered about him and his wife, Emma. They had no children but I didn’t want to ask him whether that was what they wanted. It seemed intrusive. It was nothing to do with me. I knew how much I would hate it if someone were to ask Tom whether I could have children. I cringed at the thought of that: the way people asked questions as though they deserved an answer, never thinking that their idle curiosity might mean pain for someone else.

My phone rang and I jumped, thinking it was Josh calling for a chat; then when I saw an unfamiliar number, I thought it might be someone responding to my job applications. I put on my best possible telephone voice. “Hello, this is Ruby Dean.” There was a muffled noise on the line and I wondered for a moment if someone had misdialed. I said again, “Hello, this is Ruby Dean.”

A man spoke. His voice was low and he sounded unsure of himself. “Are you free tonight?”

“What?”

“Tonight. Are you free? Around seven?”

Stupidly, I said, “Free for what?”

“To meet up,” he said.

I frowned. That was a pretty odd way of going about an interview.

“Who are you?” I asked, my mind whizzing through all the companies I’d written to. Even at that point in the call I was thinking, Why didn’t you just e-mail?

He cleared his throat. “Doug,” he said, then he coughed. “How much do you charge?”

“What?” Even now I still thought he was an employer; I’d sent my résumé out to a hundred companies over the last few days and thought that finally someone was calling about a job.

He told me then what he wanted. He gave me a couple of options, even; he didn’t seem bothered either way.

I stared at the phone in horror. “Go away!” I shrieked. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

He started to speak again, but I cut him off and blocked his number.

I wished then I hadn’t made that promise to myself about alcohol in the flat. I would have killed for a strong drink. Instead I sent Sarah a message.

Just had a dirty phone call.

Her response wasn’t what I’d hoped for. Oooh what did he say?

I sighed. Why did people always think calls like that were funny?

The usual, I replied. I’ve blocked him now. Unless you’d like me to send him your number?