She clock-watched for much of the afternoon, the minutes ticking past in the bottom-right-hand corner of her ancient desktop. Mid-afternoon, a colleague had to speak twice in order to rouse her from her trance. Flustered, she resolved to concentrate properly for the rest of the afternoon. He was just a boy, after all.

Finally, at about 4ish, he had messaged to reconfirm.

Hey!

How’s your week?

Still on for 7 tonight?

She replied, gratefully.

Hey!

Week slow and tedious …

Hope yours is better

Yes!

John Snow still work?

He responded immediately.

Works for me!

He hadn’t forgotten or changed his mind.

She replied.

See you tonight x

He replied with a single kiss.

She left work earlier than usual, at around 6.20 p.m. Although Alexa’s contracted hours were 8.30 a.m. to 6.30 p.m., she had somewhere to be – and she supposed ten minutes was nothing, really. Still, she’d scuttled out of there quickly, just in case someone spotted her. She stopped off at the loos on the floor below, to switch into her trainers and new top (she winced as she looked in the mirror) and to fix her make-up (more eyeliner, she decided), before setting up the street towards Westminster Tube station at a trot. She would go to Bond Street and walk: the whole journey should only take about twenty-five minutes – she’d cross-checked on both Google Maps and Citymapper – but she was still anxious about being late.

In fact, of course, she was early – only by five minutes or so, but enough to see that the pub was teeming: every table was occupied, and packs of braying post-work people were standing on the pavement, holding pint glasses and lit cigarettes, and jackets slung over their arms. The clouds had parted and sunshine warmed the pavements. Still, her heart sank. She could not concentrate on Ben while she worried whether the person to her left was going to upend their pint down the side of her arm.

Right on cue, someone jostled her and she whipped round, stricken. But it was Ben, and she quickly rearranged her face into what she hoped was casual enthusiasm. His hair was tossed off his face and engineered – subtly – in place with a lick of something. He smelled newly showered. She wished she’d splashed some perfume on during the walk between Bond Street and the pub. Self-consciously, she smoothed her hair.

‘Hey,’ he said casually, going in for a single kiss on the cheek.

Uncertain, Alexa almost tried for a second kiss but styled it out.

He gave her a twinkling grin.

‘Looks like the pub is packed.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But we can stand outside, or …’ She trailed off.

‘Ah yes,’ Ben said, lightly. ‘Seems like some other people had the same idea as us. Who’d have thought that Wednesday-evening-Soho-pub was such a crowd-pleaser.’

Alexa relaxed. She had an idea.