And that’s how it had begun with Harry and me, years ago, though neither of us was involved with anyone else at the time. I was in my first year at university; he was in his last. I’d noticed him for a long time and one summer night we were at a party in his student house and we sat on the porch steps and talked for hours. When it was late and most people had gone home, he hesitated, bit his lip, then said, “I don’t suppose you fancy one last drink, do you? I’ve got some Jack Daniel’s upstairs,” and I’d sighed with relief that he’d acknowledged something was going on. I remember going up to his room, giddy with excitement. He shut the door behind me and kissed me there, so that I was pressed up against the wall, his hands in my hair, his mouth on mine. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you,” he said as he came up for air, and I had flushed with pleasure.

I thought of him saying that to Ruby and felt sick. And yet, why wouldn’t he? He’d known it had worked with me. Maybe it was his party piece, something he said to all the women he’d been with.

I looked at Tom and wondered whether he was going through the same thing.

“Are you going to confront him?” he asked. “Now that you know for certain.”

“I don’t know.” I desperately wanted Harry to stay with me. To choose me. I knew that if Tom and I challenged them both now, there was a huge chance they’d run off into the sunset together. I couldn’t cope with that. “I think I’ll bide my time. How about you?”

He looked unsure. “I don’t know. I want to call her now. I won’t, though.”

“No,” I agreed. “Don’t do anything just yet.”

He got up and went into the kitchen. I heard a tap running and when he came back in, his face was damp and there were splashes on his T-shirt. “I think you’re right,” he said. “We should bide our time.”

“See what happens.”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t want to think about this now.” He poured me another drink. “Tell me about yourself. What do you do?”