‘For you. A newbie. Not for me. Because I know where it’s going. I know in six episodes it will get better, and then in ten episodes it will be wonderful, and in seventeen episodes it will be perfect.’

‘Sorry, how many episodes are there?’

‘Twenty-two a season, give or take.’

‘And how many seasons are there?’

‘Eight.’

‘You rewatch all that every year?’

‘Well, no, I don’t rewatch every episode.’

‘Which ones do you watch?’

I look at him, in his glasses, looking eager to hear all about it, not realising this is my private ritual, one of my most soothing escapes, and the only person I’ve ever shared it with is Lauren.

‘Okay, so I have a system.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘I watch all of season one, and all of season two, which is the best season, then all of season three except for one particular episode that I hate, then the first part of season four and the final three episodes, then three episodes from season five, and then most of season six, and then two episodes each from seasons seven and eight.’

Jesse is nodding along like he finds this all very fascinating and normal.

‘You don’t ever rewatch shows?’ I fold my legs under me.

‘Well yeah, I’ll put on a comedy I’ve seen before if I just want to relax, but I don’t rewatch with that kind of…plan.’

‘I like plans, sue me.’ Everything I do has a plan.

‘I like that you like plans,’ he says.

‘Well get ready for your first episode of The Vampire Diaries.’

‘I’m excited,’ he says, with too much false enthusiasm for my liking.

‘Stop smiling.’

‘I can’t smile?’

‘No. It’s condescending.’

‘Come on, Brooke.’

‘You can smile if something funny happens. Intentionally funny. You can respond to scripted humour. Only then.’

‘Is this something you do with all your friends?’

‘What do you mean?’ I say. I am not going to acknowledge that he said ‘friends’ as if he and I have definitely moved into that category. Maybe we have. But fourteen-year-old me is screaming, remember, remember.

‘Give them permission to smile,’ he says.

‘No, that’s just a rule for you,’ I say.

‘Okay but does this new rule supersede the old one of not talking to each other when Harper’s not around? Because you’ve been breaking that one a lot lately.’ He’s grinning at me.

‘I’m starting the show,’ I say.

I press play and try to pretend he’s not there. He leans forward and picks up his tea again. We watch in silence, and then he makes a noise in his throat—a kind of guttural chokinglaughing sound—and I turn my head.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing.’ He makes a faux-innocent face.

‘You made a noise.’ I point my finger at him, accusingly.

‘I was swallowing.’

‘A judgmental swallow.’