‘Oh, so that’s why you hung around me like a little puppy!’ Angie said, laughing in mock outrage. ‘Well you could have just said, it would have saved you a lot of coffee money.’

‘I know but I’m a gentleman. You’ve got to put the effort in if you want to take someone else’s hard work and claim it as your own. Otherwise it’s just rude.’

They talked all evening, long after her friends left to go on to a club. It wasn’t until the bell rang for last orders that they realised it was time to go home. As they left, he asked her if she was free for lunch the next day.

They met in a pub for a Sunday roast and then went back to his shared house for a cup of tea. The house was a typical bachelor pad, with a huge widescreen TV and rows of empty beer and wine bottles lining a shelf in the kitchen. She had a vision of him and his all-male housemates holding raucous house parties and bringing girls back after nights out. He’ll have forgotten all about me in a few weeks, she thought.

But, if anything, the opposite happened. They started meeting up more and more. He texted her most days, even though she knew he was making new friends and building a social life of his own in London. Each time she heard her phone beep with a message, she would grab it hungrily, feeling a thrill if she saw his name on the screen. Deep down she knew that she was heading down a slippery slope but she still refused to acknowledge her feelings to anyone, even herself.

‘Oh we’re just friends,’ she would say, whenever any of her pals made a comment about how much time she was spending with him. ‘Anyway, he’s got a girlfriend in Manchester.’

But that didn’t stop her from enjoying his company or fretting when she hadn’t heard from him in a few days. It didn’t stop her wondering what he was doing. Was his girlfriend visiting for the weekend? Or was he out with his housemates at some club or bar, doing shots? Was he thinking about her too? It was sometimes like torture, not knowing what he really thought of her, if he just saw her as a friend or something more. He had changed since university though, that much was clear. Not in any profound way, he’d just matured a bit, settled down, although he still had an element of Jack the jock about him, that hint of cockiness that was simply a part of who he was and probably always would be.

One Friday evening he invited her out for a drink with some of his colleagues. She had been looking forward to it all day and had rushed to the bathroom as soon as she finished work to reapply her make-up and fix her hair. But the minute she arrived she could tell that he was in a bad mood. She sat beside him, trying to catch his eye and draw him into conversation, but he barely acknowledged her. Feeling hurt and disappointed by his behaviour, she turned away from him and started talking to one of his workmates instead, a slightly older guy called Harry who seemed lovely. The more she chatted with him, the more she could see Jack scowling and downing beer. Finally, she’d had enough of his cold shoulder and she dragged him off to the bar on the pretext of helping her get a round in so that she could confront him.