Kicking off her shoes, she popped them in the line along the floor where her other pairs were arranged, and opened the wardrobe. Alexa was proud of the fact that she did not dress like a civil servant – specifically, that she did not own a single skirt suit. On her first date with Ben she had worn a black jumpsuit with huge flared legs. He had complimented her on it, and she hadn’t known what to do with her face for a minute or so afterwards, not wanting to look too pleased. Swiping through the rails now, she pulled a navy flannel shirt from the wardrobe, and a white polo neck and black jeans from her chest of drawers. Standing in front of the mirror, she tucked and untucked the shirt a few times. She decided on tucking in one side of it, leaving the other free. Sitting on her knees, she squinted in to examine her face. She frowned, prodding at one cheekbone. She went through the improvements she always made to her face: concealer under her eyes and across her brows and nose, more mascara, brushing her eyebrows up, daubing highlighter on her cheekbones and adding kohl to her eyes. She examined her hair, which could have done with a wash. Instead, she pulled half of it above her head, and fastened it with a grip.

8.27 p.m.

It would take her ten minutes to get to the restaurant – five to walk to the bus stop and then five or so minutes on the 171. She rootled around in a basket next to the mirror until she found some red nail varnish and – careful not to drop any on her jeans or shirt – painted her fingernails with two coats, blowing carefully on each finger. Scowling again at her reflection – she looked tired – she reached for her handbag, and started decanting the relevant contents into another, smaller bag: keys, phone, a battered tin of pink Vaseline, wireless earbuds in their little zip-up case. She selected a pair of white trainers from the three she owned. She sat on the bed and stared out of the window at the now-dark street outside. A car revved.

She hoped they’d be able to get a table at Penny’s. It would be excruciating to find there was no room for them. Would it be weird to book a table for their impromptu date? In normal circumstances, Alexa would not go out for dinner without booking a table. When people (Ellen) teased her about this, Alexa would play up to it, smiling and shrugging as if to say, ‘That’s me.’ Then she would point out that, this way, they’d definitely get to eat where they wanted to – and that everyone could thank her later. But she did not feel confident enough to pass off this routine with Ben. He didn’t know that foresight was one of her winning quirks.