Minnie hung her head; she felt a heady mix of emotions hit her all at once: fondness for Ian and how much he loved her friend, and sorrow for the fact that he might be right. If he was right, that meant the end of No Hard Fillings, the end of seeing Leila most days, four years of hard work wasted. Ian reached out to put both hands on her shoulders.

‘Minnie – I think it’s time for you to play one-player mode.’

15 January 2020

That evening, as Minnie walked along Upper Street towards Greg’s flat, she couldn’t get Ian’s words out of her head. She hadn’t even considered she might be holding Leila back. She’d been so busy worrying about her own career, she hadn’t stopped to consider if this was the right path for her friend.

Greg opened his front door and grimaced.

‘Clive is here,’ he hissed.

Minnie nodded. She had nothing against Clive, but Greg always acted indignant about his flatmate’s occasional presence in the flat. He never expressed an interest in coming to hers, even though it would mean they had the place to themselves.

‘Question for you, headline for my latest piece – I need an Africa pun. Kenya help me out?’

Minnie groaned and pushed him backwards into the flat.

‘I’m serious,’ said Greg, slapping the back of a hand into his other palm, ‘are you Ghana help me or not?’

They walked through to the kitchen, where Clive was making himself a coffee with Greg’s coffee machine. Clive had red hair, freckly skin and a warm, paunchy face. He made Minnie think of a young Fat Controller from Thomas the Tank Engine.

‘Bit late for coffee, hey Clive?’ said Greg, turning to face Minnie and giving her an overblown horrified face. ‘You’re going to be bouncing off the walls, my friend, and the walls here are none too substantial.’

‘I’ve got a presentation to write for tomorrow, I won’t be in the way of your romantic evening,’ said Clive. ‘PowerPoint and I will be reacquainting ourselves in my bedroom.’

Clive took his coffee mug and plodded back to his room with a backwards wave.

‘Space leech,’ Greg groaned under his breath. ‘Hey, did you read the paper today?’

‘I read your column on immigrant mice – very thought-provoking. I didn’t get the chance to read much else, I—’

Greg cut her off.

‘You didn’t see Lucy Donohue’s column then?’ said Greg, slapping a copy of the paper down on the kitchen table in front of her. His lips pulled into a Cheshire cat grin. ‘Hell hath no fury like a food writer scorned.’

Minnie picked up the paper and looked at the page Greg was pointing to. She clutched the paper with both hands, quickly scanning the words in front of her.