When I make the hot chocolate, I add a large slug from the bottle of leftover spiced Christmas rum that’s been sitting by the sink for weeks and head upstairs to climb into bed, putting my headphones firmly over my ears.

Chapter Nine: Jess

Chapter Nine

Jess

10th February

I’ve been living in Notting Hill for a month now, and Alex has been as good as his word. He’s showing me his London, piece by piece, like a jigsaw, and I’m falling even more in love. With London, I should add, not with him. Definitely not with him. Not even a tiny little bit. Not even one atom of my romance-loving, musical-addicted, happy-ever-after body is longing to throw myself into his arms and say pick me, you idiot. Because that would be completely pointless and I am not a fool. He spins round again, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his jeans so I can see his bottom (which is an exceptionally nice specimen – just saying, purely objectively). Well, perhaps I am a little bit of a fool.

Because the thing is, I can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t gone on that bloody skiing holiday, which was admittedly lovely, perhaps Alex wouldn’t have got off with the beautiful, effortlessly glamorous, high-flying Emma the night before I got back. And instead of lying with my head under two pillows gritting my teeth and trying not to listen to the sounds of them definitely not being a couple in the room next door, I could be in there. Literally.

As it is, I feel like a complete fool. And Alex hasn’t a clue. He’s so sweet. Whenever he’s got time off, he’s taking me on adventures around London, showing off his favourite places to me. And he loves this city so much that even if I didn’t already, he would have converted me.

And he’s got no idea I know something’s going on with him and Emma. The weird thing is, they’re perfectly civil to each other in the house the rest of the time, so it’s like nothing’s going on and it’s all in my head. Except I’d have to be pretty screwed up to be imagining that.

‘It’s called fuckbuddies,’ Gen said to me on the phone earlier in the week, as if she was explaining something very simple to a child of about four years old.

‘I know what it is,’ I said. ‘I just didn’t think it was actually a thing.’

‘God Jess, you are so naïve sometimes. Of course it’s a thing. Look at me and Marco.’

‘Marco from the Ballet?’

‘Yes.’ I could picture her rolling her eyes.

‘I thought you two were just friends.’

‘With benefits,’ Gen said, with a dirty sort of chuckle. ‘When it suited me. Or him.’