‘It’s fine, I forgive you. I’d just rather you were playing a more original character trope in this romcom. “Tortured commitment-phobe” is so nineties.’

‘Is it now?’ he laughed. ‘And who said we were in a romcom? If I’m going to be in any kind of film, I’d want it to be a thriller or an action movie.’

‘I don’t think management consultants get to be action heroes,’ said Minnie. She was relieved to be on safer ground. The elephant in the room had been dealt with. Now they could pack it up in a giant elephant-size box, bury it in the garden and never speak of it again. It could all just be banter and friendly conversation once more.

‘So what film are you playing a leading lady in?’ Quinn asked.

Minnie bounced slightly on the sofa. That second glass of wine had sent a buzz to her head. ‘Finding Nemo, when I had the fish tail on, but usually Ratatouille. Maybe my genre is kids’ films.’

‘Ratatouille?’

‘It’s about a rat who’s a chef.’

‘You’re definitely not a rat, I see you in a superhero franchise,’ Quinn said, taking another sip of wine. ‘They’d call you Coco Nuts, and you’d take out all the bad guys by bashing their heads together with these enormous coconuts.’

Quinn glanced at the coconut bra lying between them on the sofa.

‘I don’t know if I could kill a man with those.’ There was a fruit bowl on the coffee table and Minnie reached out for a banana. ‘I think Coconut Girl would have some other fruit-themed weaponry up her sleeve.’ She held the banana against Quinn’s chest like a gun and Quinn raised his hands in surrender.

‘Ah Coco Nuts, we meet again. I see you have foiled my cunning plan to steal all the fruit in Fruitopolis.’ Quinn affected a deep American drawl.

‘You won’t get away with it this time,’ said Minnie, in a theatrical voice of her own.

‘Unfortunately for you, my superpowers involve telepathically forcing you to eat your own weapon,’ said Quinn, still in character.

‘I don’t think so, Evil Baddie Man,’ Minnie said.

‘Is that my name?’ Quinn asked in a stage whisper. ‘It’s not very good.’

‘You didn’t introduce yourself,’ Minnie deadpanned, trying to compose herself. ‘Very bad manners.’

Quinn reached for the banana, Minnie grabbed his elbow, and then followed what Minnie could only describe as a sort of play-fight, which ended up with Quinn pinning her to the sofa and taking the banana from her hand. Minnie suddenly felt very aware that she was not wearing a bra.

‘I’m not eating it,’ she said, still in character. ‘You can’t make me.’