I want to stop anything happening between them. I want to stop it so badly that I will do anything to keep them apart (tell Lauren he doesn’t shower, that he’s a climate-change denier, that he kicks puppies?), but I also don’t want to want that. I don’t want to be that person and I don’t want to feel like this. My heart should be closed to Jesse. I vowed to myself that it was closed. I want to be fine with them hooking up, I want to get rid of anything that might resemble a dramatic feeling about the prospect of it. How do you cleanse yourself of feelings? There must be a proper scientific process.

Jesse returns, with drinks for everyone and a Coke for me, which we didn’t discuss and I take with a curt ‘Thank you’ but I am actually grateful. Lauren says something that makes him laugh, and she laughs too, with a little toss of her hair, and I feel a bit like I want to die.

The more space Lauren takes up, the more she shines, the more her hair gently waves down her back like a silky blonde waterfall, the more I feel myself becoming silent and dull and closed-up and limp-haired.

And Jesse. He’s warming to her. Is he? Yes, for sure. When Lauren turns her charm on, and adds in the frisson of sexual possibility, it’s irresistible.

I channel my anxiety into food and order three bowls of hot chips for everyone to eat to soak up the alcohol. Penny arrives at some point, and we head to another bar. I am already tired of switching venues, of finding a new spot to sit and making sure Lauren and Jesse don’t sit next to each other, but also that I don’t sit next to Jesse either, and making upbeat remarks about the decor and the atmosphere even though both are usually tired and downbeat, and I hope that the next one will be the last for the night, that we’ll stay put.

As we walk in the door to an upscale-looking pub, we realise it’s hosting a trivia night.

‘I hate trivia,’ Lauren says, scrunching her face.

‘Me too,’ Jesse says.

Oh great. They’re bonding.

‘Well, I like it,’ I say. I don’t, not in a big rowdy group like this with no one to take it seriously, but if I have to play trivia to ruin Jesse and Lauren’s night, I will. And there’s nothing that dampens sexual tension like demanding someone tells you the capital of Bulgaria. ‘Let’s get a table!’

‘Brooke! Jesse!’ a voice yells. I know who it is from the first syllable.

‘God. No.’ I turn away. Maybe if we pretend we haven’t heard him, we can just leave. We could just leave anyway, but I can’t quite bring myself to be that rude.