Ellen was having none of it. ‘I’d rather sit in silence than play a game,’ she said, flatly. She searched Alexa’s face for support. Ben was watching Alexa too, and smiling what Ellen assumed he’d describe as his ‘winning’ smile. Alexa glanced between them, her expression dark and inscrutable. Finally, she shrugged in defeat. ‘Alexa, really?’ Ellen whined. ‘Risk?’

Alexa shrugged again.

Jack had already unfolded the board and was examining each piece individually.

Ellen contemplated sulking, but could see she was beaten. ‘Fucking fine, then. But I’m playing for half an hour, max.’

Jack offered her the box. ‘You can pick your colour first!’

She glared at him.

3. Alexa

The date had come out of nowhere, really.

On Friday evening, Alexa had made her excuses to opt out of one of work’s semi-regular trips to Gordon’s Wine Bar. She liked many of her nerdy, earnest and bright colleagues but, aside from academic excellence, work was all they had in common. Plus, there was always an air of self-satisfaction to these Friday nights. Discussing Whitehall proceedings with the superiority of insiders (they were junior civil servants, for God’s sake) in a warm, packed basement bar, making noises about the sweaty cheese board they’d inevitably order, honks of laughter over only moderately funny in-jokes, calculating monies owed for rounds on the back of a receipt. One colleague, Stewart – a young fogey who wore mauve corduroy trousers and whose laugh was especially honking – would always email his bank details over minutes after they all parted and went their separate ways. It all made her feel a bit exhausted. She always found herself hoping that their group wouldn’t be overheard by someone, and spent much of the time looking over other people’s shoulders, brain only half trained on the conversation.

And so, fumbling with her jacket and handbag – leaving her wheezy work computer as it attempted to install some updates – Alexa had made a hollow promise to be there next time. Walking at a trot to Westminster Tube station, she caught the Jubilee line to London Bridge before getting the overground home to New Cross. When she timed every connection perfectly it took about half an hour to get home. This happened a couple of times a week, and it pleased Alexa more than it should have done. By the same token, when the opposite happened and it took over an hour, it made her more furious than she suspected was normal.