‘No, but if she had . . . I cannae tell you which I’d have chosen. I bloody love my job. I spent years working in construction, and paid a fortune to retrain. You’ve got to follow your heart, haven’t you?’

These words, coming from the stocky, gruff Scotsman make me smile. He’s right, though.

Of course, what I’ve not mentioned to him, or to Becky, or to anyone – and I’m not sure why – is that it turns out that after we split, Alice had had a semi-serious fling with Paul, who I used to work with. I think it was them splitting up that was the catalyst for her getting back in touch. It’s weird because he was one of the ones from the office who’d sort of kept in touch – for a bit, at least. We’d been out for drinks a few times since leaving, and yet he’d never mentioned it. Not that I’m in any position to comment, given what happened with Emma.

God, relationships are complicated. I head upstairs, pull the curtains, and climb under the covers. Sleeping after night shifts is a killer in the summer. It’s so hot that I’ve got to leave the window open, but there’s music blaring and car horns beeping and kids off school yelling at each other in the gardens, and there’s no way I can possibly sleep with all that going on . . .

Weird thing is it’s not Emma or Alice who get caught up in my daytime dreams when I’m tangled in the sheets, dozing, trying to catch up after night shifts. It’s Jess. My subconscious is an awkward bugger.

When it becomes clear I’m not falling asleep any time soon, I shove off the sheet and climb out of bed, heading for the kitchen. I need caffeine, and fast.

Talking of the devil, Jess appears in the kitchen, her nose smattered with new freckles from the August sun outside, her hair in long waves around her shoulders. She’s wearing a pretty flower-patterned sundress and flip-flops, her sunglasses balanced on the top of her head. She’s standing in the doorway as a reminder that no, I wasn’t imagining it. It is her I’ve been dreaming about. God, my subconscious needs to get a grip. A second later, the universe throws an ice-cold bucket of water over my subconscious when Jess steps further into the room followed by a tall, fair-haired, Scandinavian-looking bloke.

‘Oh! Alex.’ She goes a bit pink. ‘This is James.’

I’ve only been gone a couple of weeks. Where the hell has this James sprung from? I realise I’m probably staring and extend a hand. James shakes it – firmly.

‘Hi. I’m Alex, Jess’s housemate.’ Obviously I’m her housemate – that’s why I’m standing here with bare feet and wearing track pants and a T-shirt.