‘Speaking of hard work, what is it you do all day, with your meetings and white shirts and all those spreadsheets?’

Daniel rolled his bloodshot eyes, stabbing at another piece of beef. ‘It’s boring and complicated and you look on the brink of nodding off as it is.’

‘I’m interested! You can at least give me the general gist.’

‘I’m a transmissions and distribution forecasting manager for East Midlands Energy.’

‘Okay. Wow.’ I nodded as if impressed and/or interested.

Daniel wasn’t fooled. ‘Don’t wow! It’s even more boring than it sounds.’

‘If it’s so boring, then why do you do it?’

‘I’m not really in a position to be considering a career change. More importantly I can do most of it from home in evenings and nap-times, and it pays enough to keep things going. That takes precedent over thrills and spills these days.’

‘Well, I suppose someone has to be a trans-forecasting… I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten it already.’

‘We can’t all work in the glamorous world of food critics.’ Daniel looked at me pointedly.

‘Um. What?’ My last mouthful of potato became wedged in my throat, as the rest of the meal threatened to rise up and join it.

‘I had a nosy at your website. It’s good.’

I was too busy freaking out to appreciate the warm glow in his eyes as he said this, although somewhere below the building panic I did feel a squeeze in response to his deep, soft voice.

‘I have to admit, I was sceptical as to how anyone could make a living out of it. But I can see why advertisers would want to be associated with yours.’ He smiled. I tried to smile back, but my face was numb with horror. Outside of a select few at the newspaper, I’d thought Charlie, Lucy and my ex-boyfriend Marcus were the only people who knew what I did for a living. If one or two extras knew, I could live with it, but if Daniel knew, I couldn’t keep living with him. This was meant to be a fresh start, a place where I could be me again, a me I actually liked. I didn’t want people to think I was capable of being the horrible person Nora had evolved into.

‘That one you wrote on the dementia patients from Sri Lanka, and how cooking food from their heritage helped them. I have to admit that coincided with a speck of dust blowing into my eye.’

Oh. Oh! The relief unseized my windpipe, and I sucked in a huge gasping breath.

‘Don’t look so surprised.’ Daniel topped up my water glass. ‘It was really good.’

I shook my head, as if dismissing his compliment. ‘I didn’t think anyone read that blog.’

He looked puzzled. ‘I thought that was your job.’

‘Um, yes. It is. Partly. I do other pieces as well, reporting on current events. Things like that. They’re much more popular.’

‘Well, either way, I’m sure it beats spreadsheets.’

‘It does. Well. It did.’ I took another deep breath. ‘I’m not sure it’s me any more. So I’m taking a break to consider my options. That’s one reason why I was coming to see Charlie.’ I smiled, ruefully. ‘She’d have had loads of ideas.’