Damian nods his head. ‘He loves you, Vanessa, that much is clear,’ he says, taking his glasses off and wiping them with the back of his sleeve. ‘And he wants you to have a proper home one day. But for that to happen he has to do what he’s doing now. You’ve heard about the senior position he’s going for?’

‘Um, I think so,’ I say, feeling rather pathetic now. ‘What … which one?’

‘The senior art director role,’ says Damian. ‘It’s going to be up for grabs when the current guy leaves and Connor’s putting his heart and soul into this branding job for the sports company so he can be in with a chance of promotion.’

‘Oh yes,’ I say, taking a sip of water. Why didn’t Connor tell me that? ‘Of course he is. I feel terrible now.’

‘Hey, it’s natural to feel that way,’ he says, smiling. ‘Listen, why don’t you organize a date night? Book a table at a nice gaff, that sort of thing. I think the two of you need a break.’

‘I might do,’ I say as Damian opens the door and the sound of Lewis Capaldi fills the air. ‘And thanks for listening, Damian. I really appreciate it.’

‘Ach, sure it’s nothing,’ he says, winking at me as he goes out.

I return my thoughts to the press release but as I’m trying to make sense of it, my stomach knots as I recall something Damian said about the senior role.

‘It’s going to be up for grabs when the current guy leaves.’

The senior art director is a man. So why, then, did Connor tell me it was a gay woman called Sara who calls everyone ‘darling’ and whose texts I shouldn’t be worried about?

It’s 11.30 by the time Connor gets back. I’m sitting on the roof terrace drinking a cup of camomile tea and scrolling, rather half-heartedly, through the Dream Properties app.

‘Hey, you,’ he says sleepily as he comes out on to the terrace. ‘What are you doing up so late?’

‘I wanted to see you,’ I say, wrapping the blanket round my shoulders. ‘It’s been a long evening on my own.’

‘Well, I do apologize,’ he says, sighing heavily. ‘If it’s any consolation, my dinner consisted of two Rich Tea biscuits and a packet of crisps. Look, Vanessa, you’re obviously in one of your moods and I haven’t got the energy for it tonight. As if it wasn’t enough you embarrassing me at the boxing match.’

‘How did I embarrass you?’ I cry.

‘I’m not doing this, Vanessa,’ he says, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’m going to bed.’

He walks into the flat, slamming the door behind him.