‘Go on.’ I scuff my toe on the gravel of the path. A flock of tourists fly past us on Boris Bikes, shrieking with laughter, and we jump out of the way.

‘It’s about Emma.’

Oh.

No.

My ice cream becomes very interesting and I look at it intently, hoping that I haven’t gone red in the face. Alex stops, turning to look at me. I try to put it off, but I have to look him in the eye and I swallow as I do so. ‘Emma?’ I say, breezily. ‘What about her?’

‘Well, the thing is . . .’ He tails off, biting his thumbnail and gazing into the middle distance, back towards the zoo animals. I see the tall shape of the giraffe reaching up to take a mouthful of leaves from one of the trees. A plane flies past, with an advert hanging from the back of it, old-fashioned style. Bees are humming, and children are shrieking, and gravel is scrunching, and I’m waiting for him to say something, and then it all comes out in a jumble of words.

‘I don’t know if you know . . .’ He pushes a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t want it to be awkward.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say, airily. ‘I mean, I think everyone must have some idea, so it’s not going to be a major deal. And I’m sure you’ll be very happy. You make a nice couple.’ I think I’ve done quite a good job of that. Might be better to stop talking now, mind you. I press my lips together before any more words escape.

He runs a hand through his hair again, making it stand on end. I half want to laugh, but I also want to burst into tears and shout it’s not fair like a child and run away. I like him, and he likes me, and we get on and make each other laugh and I’ve never seen him and Emma laughing together, and why does it have to be the case that I’m always the—

‘We’re not together,’ he says firmly. ‘And I don’t want us to be. That’s the problem.’

‘Ohhh.’ I raise my eyebrows, trying to look sage, and knowledgeable, and definitely not relieved. I’m not sure how well I manage it.

‘Thing is, she mentioned something about me on the phone to a friend the other week and I – God I feel really awkward saying this. I’m not being a massive ego on legs. I just got the feeling that she’s wanting more than . . .’

He screws up his face and goes a bit pink in the cheeks, then bites his lip, waiting for me to say something.

‘Oh, but Emma’s lovely,’ I say, magnanimously. I can afford to be nice now. God, am I a bitch? I make a mental note to ask Gen and Sophie if they think I am.

‘She is. I don’t want to screw things up,’ Alex says.