My heart bangs against my ribs. ‘Break-up?’ It feels as if the blood is rushing in my ears.

‘Aye.’ Rob looks at me, levelly. ‘Told me a while ago when we were having breakfast. We were talking about this and that, and she just came out with it. Said she realised she didn’t feel anything for him but friendship, so when he asked her to move in, she gave him the heave-ho.’

‘Ouch,’ I say, to cover my elation.

He nods. ‘Aye. Anyway—’ Rob sticks his hand out, and I stand up and make as if to shake it, but he pulls me into a bear hug and slaps me firmly on the back. As he lets go, he murmurs in his gruff Glasgow accent, ‘Reckon you should be having a wee think about telling Jess how you feel.’

‘Me?’ I’m surprised that Rob seems to have picked up on what’s going on – or should I say, what’s not going on. I sigh.

‘Aye. You. No point missing the boat, eh? I’ll see you later, pal.’

And with a wave of his arm, Rob pulls the door closed behind him and leaves me standing in a sea of cardboard boxes and half-packed bags, my mind whirling in confusion.

I pick up my phone and scan my messages. The last one I got from Jess was a photo of a terrier in a Christmas sweater walking on a lead in Hyde Park a couple of days ago. No message, just the photo and a laughing face.

Maybe I should message her now. And say what?

Oh hi, I hear you’ve dumped James . . . what about it? Hardly. My heart seems to have gone into overdrive and it’s banging so loud in my chest I feel like it’s about to crash out. Of course—

I click on Instagram, checking to see if she’s updated her whereabouts. I’m always teasing her that she can’t resist documenting every second of her day.

‘If a serial killer was after you,’ I’ve told her, ‘all they’d have to do is check Instagram and they’d be on to you in a second.’

I scroll down the main page and her face flashes up on the screen. Sure enough, there’s a photograph – I zoom in on the picture, looking at the golden light on the water, and the sun setting over the canal at Little Venice: 3.30 p.m., the time stamp underneath says. It’s ten to four now. Surely she’ll still be there?

I grab my wallet and pull the bedroom door behind me. I hurtle down the stairs two at a time, almost tripping over my own feet, and yank the front door open. Then I have a brainwave and run back up the stairs and into my room. I grab the book I never got the chance to give her and shove it in the back pocket of my jeans, before hurtling back out of the door again.