We’re sitting on the sofa at Mum’s place the next morning. We’ve slept in the little spare room bed, crammed together like sardines in a tin, and I’m exhausted and dreaming of my own bed. James is sipping a mug of coffee and reading the local newspaper, his long legs concertinaed in the tiny space. He looks a bit like someone’s tried to put a giant in a doll’s house. I watch him for a moment, looking out of the corner of my eye. He thinks I’m replying to work emails. I am replying to work emails. I just happen to be looking at a message from Alex and trying to work out why – when I have a handsome, eligible, kind, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera boyfriend sitting here in my mum’s house – I’m more excited by the prospect of walking around London in the October drizzle than I am about being here.

I decide that maybe I’m just being fickle. But – I turn the phone over in my hands, pondering – I do like our wanders. And Alex makes me laugh. And it’s important to have male friends when you’re in a relationship.

I’d like that.

There’s a pause when I see the dots on the screen, indicating he’s writing something, and then they disappear. I wait a moment, but nothing comes.

? I type, waiting for his response.

Just, maybe we should skip inviting anyone else this time?

My insides give a disobedient little fizz, as if I’ve had a tiny electric shock. I’m not doing anything wrong, I tell myself, and I can feel the corners of my lips tugging upwards in a secret little smile as I tap out a reply.

Definitely.

And then I put the phone down on the table and turn towards James. He puts down the paper and gazes at me with his huge, soft brown eyes.

‘You okay?’

I nod.

‘And you’re going to cope—’ he pauses, glancing in the direction of Mum’s bedroom, where she’s still sleeping ‘—when I go back tonight?’

‘Definitely.’

As if he’s summoned her, Mum appears from the bedroom, wrapped in a purple satin dressing gown. She rubs her face, and gives a huge, over-exaggerated yawn.

‘Morning, James,’ she says. She can’t see my face, and I give him A Look – nostrils flaring and eyes wide. Mum has always been very much male focused, and with James around I’ve been relegated to a sort of incidental character, a bit-part player without a speaking part.

‘Do we have anything for breakfast?’ She opens the kitchen cupboard and closes it again, making a little noise of disappointment. It’s as if she’s forgotten that we’re her guests, and she’s the one responsible for catering.