I nod, and take a seat next to James on a sofa. It’s been a steep learning curve for the last nine months and I’m exhausted. I need a proper holiday. James made some vague noises about going away somewhere next year, and the idea of us having a next year together – well, it felt quite nice.

‘Drink?’ Sophie leans down between mine and James’s shoulders, beaming contentedly. She loves playing hostess.

‘I’d love a beer, please,’ says James.

‘Can I have one too?’

‘Coming up.’

Malcolm gives a huge yawn, echoing Gen’s a moment ago, stretching his arms up in the air. His huge clown-like face elongates and his eyes close. I look at James sideways. I get the feeling that perhaps this is all a little bit too tame and suburban for Malcolm. I sit back in the chair and take the beer Sophie hands me, looking around. It’s weird to think that nine months ago we were sitting looking at the mountains on our ski trip, talking about how things might change over the next year. And now, here’s Gen with Malcolm and me with James. It’s all very neat and lovely. I shift a little on the sofa and James turns, giving me a look of concern.

‘You all right, hon?’

I freeze slightly. He’s never used that term with me before and I’d be quite happy if he never did so again. I am not a ‘hon’.

Gen notices and snorts with laughter. ‘You’re going to have to break the spell, James, or she’ll be frozen in that position of abject horror all night.’

‘What did I do?’ James looks genuinely anguished. His brow furrows and he runs a hand through his thick blond thatch of hair.

‘I’m just not a very “hon” sort of person.’

‘She’s more of a darling, aren’t you, darling?’ Gen grins.

‘What about poppet?’ Malcolm raises his chin slightly and looks at me thoughtfully. ‘You’re quite posh. You seem a bit of a poppet to me.’

‘Posh? Jess?’ Sophie says.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, ‘I am sitting right here.’

‘Poshly.’ Gen reaches for a crisp.

‘I didn’t say I was posh, Malcolm said I was posh.’

‘James is posh,’ Gen says, decisively. ‘I bet your parents sent you to boarding school and you have an Aga and all that stuff.’

‘My God,’ he says, but he’s laughing. He puts his hands up. ‘Guilty as charged. Yes, my parents have an Aga. No, I didn’t go to boarding school.’

‘And did they call you poppet or hon?’

‘Neither. Always James.’

‘Exactly.’ Gen looks pleased with herself.

‘I’m just not a cute names sort of person, that’s all,’ I say.