Liv glanced behind her, at her crumpled bed and an apple core on the writing desk. “Come in.”

Jake raised a bemused eyebrow at the room. “This is where you’re, um, working? Is it really Essie’s place?” A banging noise sounded above and they both looked up at the ceiling.

“It’s her old student accommodation, a secret hideaway. I think she bought it when she got her book deal. I bet it’s tidier than Johnny’s new place.”

Jake laughed. “I can imagine.” He proffered the bags to her. “I know you never got the chance to be a student, so I brought you some essentials. I lived on this stuff for years.”

Liv looked inside one of the bags and couldn’t help laughing as she took out a box of Rice Krispies, and a box of minestrone Cup-a-Soups.

“There’s also a multipack of cheap crisps and some chocolate digestives.” He smiled. “A week’s worth of meals. I used to keep a box of cereal at the side of my bed. I had a handful in the morning for breakfast, and the same for supper.”

“So nutritious. I definitely missed out,” she said. “I’d offer you tea and toast, but I don’t have milk or bread.”

“Hmm, looks like I forgot those.” Jake looked around for a chair.

“Use the bed. It doubles up as a sofa,” she said.

They sat down together and scooped puffed rice from the cereal box with their hands.

A couple of Rice Krispies stuck to Jake’s cheek like warts and she reached over to flick them off. They made general chitchat about Johnny and Mack, and after a short while Jake stood up. “I’ll leave you to get back to work,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m supposed to be writing,” she said glumly.

When he headed to the door her eyes followed him. Wasn’t he going to ask her more questions before leaving? Or enquire when she was coming home? But, he gave her a warm smile and was gone.

The next morning, he brought fresh bread, and they ate slices of buttery toast, perched on the edge of the bed together. He left after fifteen minutes and Liv found herself wishing he’d stayed a bit longer.

The next day, she read her version of the manuscript all day before Jake knocked on the door at 8 p.m. They drank soup from cups and dropped in pieces of torn bread. When ten o’clock came around, he stood up to leave and they kissed in the doorway, as if Liv was nineteen again.

After a few more days following a similar pattern, Jake asked casually, “How is your writing going?” There was no tension in his voice, or pressure for her to tell him. Liv felt he really wanted to know.