‘Venice was gorgeous,’ I say, truthfully. ‘Lots and lots of water.’ Also truthful.

‘Loved your photos,’ says Becky. ‘Looks like you had the most amazing time.’

‘It’s so romantic,’ Emma sighs. She glances across at Alex, and I can’t read her expression. I want to tell them that what they see on Instagram isn’t necessarily representative of my real life, and remind them that the main reason I share the photos isn’t to try and become Insta-famous or to get free stuff. It’s because it’s an easy way of sending a little pictorial hello to Nanna Beth and my friends from wherever I am, whatever time of day it is. And I suppose there’s a bit of me that’s felt like I had a point to prove – after all, I walked away from my life in Bournemouth and moved to London to have the dream career and the amazing house in Notting Hill, and all of that.

‘Right. We’re here for an extraordinary meeting,’ Becky says, steepling her fingers and clearing her throat, ‘because one of us is leaving the fold.’

I look at everyone. Before I have time to start trying to size up who it is, Becky laughs, and carries on.

‘Alex is leaving to share a place with some of his friends from the nursing course, so we need to put our heads together and see if we can find someone to replace him.’

‘Shouldn’t be too hard,’ Alex says, laughing and looking a bit uncomfortable. I try to catch his eye, but he looks down at the table.

‘Have you got a place yet?’ Emma says.

‘Not quite,’ says Alex. ‘Got a couple of places to look at though.’

‘I might know someone,’ Emma says. ‘She’s a friend from work.’

‘Do I know her?’ Becky asks, looking interested.

I watch Alex, who is drinking his tea and looking out of the window. It’s as if he’s distancing himself already. I can’t help wondering with a sinking feeling if he’s moving out so he can make it easier for him and Emma to actually get together. Once again, I’ve gone away and come back to find that Alex has slipped through my fingers. Or the idea of him, anyway. I have to remind myself that all of this has been in my own bloody head. I need to get over myself and stop believing my life is going to turn out like a romantic movie.

It turns out Becky vaguely knows the girl through another friend at work, so it looks like the deal might already be done.

I stand up, faking a yawn. ‘I’m really sorry,’ I say, picking up my bag. ‘I’m so tired, and I’ve got work in the morning. After a week and a half off, God knows what I’ve got waiting for me.’

I walk out of the room without looking back.