They got down to Barney’s and there were a couple of people queuing ahead of them. Quinn hadn’t said anything in a few minutes, and Minnie found herself pinching the skin between her thumb and forefinger.

‘I will help if you want me to,’ he said softly. She turned to look at him as they queued for the van. She saw something behind his eyes: sadness, resignation? She couldn’t read him at all. ‘I have my car here today, I could drive you.’

Minnie was about to protest, to say it had been a silly idea and she could easily do it herself in an Uber, but then she stopped herself. The conversation with Leila had made her realise the extent of her feelings for Quinn. She couldn’t go on like this, just living for Sunday. She wanted to open the bell jar, take this beyond the heath, whatever that meant.

‘That would be mega-helpful, thank you,’ she said.

‘What are friends for?’

9 August 2020

It felt strange taking Quinn to her parents’ house. She had never brought a man there.

Once they were inside, she held her fingers to her ears and moved her head like a metronome.

‘See, relaxing isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know – it’s quite charming. It’s like the house where time lives.’

She wrinkled her nose at him. She’d taken to making this face whenever he said something poetic.

‘Maybe that could be the title of my autobiography,’ she said.

She led him up to her small attic bedroom and he had to hunch to get through the rabbit-hutch-style door.

‘Oh, I love Hopper, I have a print of Nighthawks in my flat,’ said Quinn, instantly honing in on Automat.

‘No way,’ she said, ‘I love his paintings.’ Clearly Quinn didn’t remember she’d been privy to the Amanda conversation outside his office. ‘This school friend of mine, Lacey, she moved away from London when I was fourteen. We stayed in touch writing postcards to each other for a while. She must have had a multipack of Hopper prints, because they were all his. His pictures have that association for me – kind words from a sorely missed friend.’

‘She looks so lonely, doesn’t she,’ said Quinn, looking down at the picture. ‘You want to know why she’s sad.’

‘You think she looks sad? I never thought that, I always thought she looked content in her solitude. I envy her – I’d never be brave enough to have coffee alone with my thoughts.’

Quinn looked sideways at her, still holding the print.

‘That’s a very optimistic outlook.’

‘Leila gave it to me.’ Minnie shrugged, ‘Maybe that’s her world view rubbing off on me.’

As he put the picture down, Lucky sprang through the door and started weaving in and out between Quinn’s legs.

‘Who’s this?’ he said, bending down to stroke the cat’s head.