‘Fancy a fag upstairs?’ asked Dan, who was looking incredibly cool in his usual skinny black jeans, blue-and-black-checked lumberjack shirt and a black leather biker’s jacket. The brushed-forward dark brown fringe emphasized his high cheekbones and narrowed, watchful eyes. The (almost certainly calculated) air he gave off was one of insolence, arrogance, even menace, thought Sam. Until he looked at you and smiled, that was, making you feel as though you were the only person in the room.

Loyal to Mark, she had purposefully ignored Dan’s undisputed hotness, determined to think of him only as a friend. Now she followed him up to the roof terrace, taking in the length of his legs, narrowness of his hips and breadth of his shoulders.

As it was a sunny London Sunday, the roof terrace was rammed with self-consciously trendy locals, which was partly why the boys had chosen to stay inside. It suited their grungy image to be holed up in a dark, grimy pub while the rest of London eagerly lapped up the sunshine. Sam personally would also have chosen to lap up the sunshine but, given the choice of sunshine on her own or the boys’ company inside, the boys’ company inside won by a long chalk.

There was nowhere to sit, so Sam and Dan went to stand at the edge of the terrace, looking out onto the road and breathing in the traffic fumes. Dan, who had rolled a couple of fags downstairs at the bar, handed one to Sam and lit it for her.

‘So, Sambo, you’re not looking your usual self today. What’s up, love?’

The undivided attention and sympathy were enough to break through the fug of alcohol and open the floodgates. Sam felt the tears she had managed to keep at bay all day start to well up again.

‘I … I … I’ve split up with Mark. He’s been shagging some bloody p-p-porn star. He …’

Her bottom lip was quivering, and Dan watched as she instinctively crossed her arms in front of her chest, in the automatic defensive gesture she’d adopted since puberty. She looked very young and very vulnerable, standing there in her miniskirt and flip-flops, and he realized how much of a brave face she must have been putting on all day.

‘Oh, Sam, love, that’s just a piece of shite.’ He put his arms around her. Slowly, Sam unfolded hers and wound them tentatively around his waist. ‘How could anybody cheat on you? You’re lovely …’

‘I’m not good enough for him, Dan.’ The words were muffled as she tried not to sniffle onto his shoulder. ‘I know I’m not. He travels the world, seeing the most gorgeous women everywhere, and I’m just not good enough …’

‘Now you’re being daft,’ said Dan, taking her by the shoulders and standing back so he could look straight into her eyes. ‘Nobody is more gorgeous than you, and he’s the one who’s just not good enough.’ The way he used her own words, slightly mockingly, was enough to make Sam laugh through her tears.