There wasn’t one, to be fair. I think it was more a case of waking up from sleepwalking through my life, and so impatiently wanting to fix it all, right now this second, in case I risked falling back asleep. But I knew it didn’t work that way. True control over my life would look like relinquishing control over some stuff so I didn’t waste my energy on things that weren’t mine to control. Not to sound like Patrick, or anything.

‘No rush,’ I said. ‘You’re right. And plus, I don’t really have a choice. I’m not doing a house-share so that means keeping this job to pay for a flat.’

She steered me by the elbow out of the way of an old woman with a shopping trolley. ‘I know I’m a badass at work,’ she offered. ‘But I don’t actually love it.’

I stopped walking. ‘Wait what? You don’t?’ I was genuinely shocked. I thought Adzo adored what we did.

She blinked slowly. ‘I mean, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘And it’s not as if I have to be down the mines every day, or that we don’t get a good-sized transfer into our account every month. But yeah, of course I wish that sometimes I could be a nurse instead, or a novelist, or the founder of a start-up.’

‘So why don’t you?’ I pressed.

‘Can’t be arsed,’ she replied, as we picked up our pace. When we stopped again, she looked up at where I pointed. ‘This can’t be it,’ she said. ‘Is this the address?’

I opened my email to double check. ‘Number thirteen? Yup. This is it.’

She surveyed the dark brick and ramshackle windows. ‘Okay …’ She exhaled, slowly.

‘Hmmm,’ I agreed. ‘I mean, I know it’s not exactly a palace …’

‘And this is six-fifty a month?’

‘Yup.’

‘Jeez.’

In a feat of comic timing, a rat the size of a small rabbit appeared at the corner of the cracked wheelie bin just beside the gate. We both screamed, leaping back.

‘What the hell!’ Adzo cried.

‘Gross, gross, gross,’ I said, pulling on her arm so that we almost collided with a passing cyclist who screamed out, ‘Fucking watch it, dickheads!’ whilst issuing the finger.

We screamed again and this time it was Adzo tugging at my arm, leading me to the street corner where she asked me in a hushed voice, ‘Do you actually want to go in there?’

I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said, as if it was obvious. ‘But it’s in the right area, –ish, and I can afford it.’

‘I think we need to go and wash our hands,’ she said. ‘I don’t think this is the place for you, okay?’

I nodded. ‘Okay. I have another viewing somewhere else tomorrow, anyway, and one the day after.’

‘Email the guy to say you’re not coming,’ she prompted.