She steps past me and shrugs off her coat, revealing the bluey-green dress she’s got on underneath. I avert my eyes, as if she’s undressing, not pulling off a pair of black heeled boots. And then she’s Jess-sized again, standing in a pair of black tights on the carpet.

‘Want me to put the kettle on?’ I ask when I notice she’s shivering.

‘Give it five minutes. I’m going to run up and get out of this—’ she motions to the dress ‘—have a quick shower to defrost, and put on something that doesn’t make me feel like I’m dressing up.’

While Jess changes, I put the kettle on for tea, then make toast, buttering it thickly and spreading it with her favourite marmalade. And then I put it all on a tray, and take it into the sitting room. A moment later, Jess reappears, looking more like her usual self in a pair of checked flannel pyjama bottoms, and a light grey teddy-bear fleece top. Her hair and make-up are still in place, so she looks incongruous – like an actress after a performance on the West End stage.

‘Oh my God. I think I love you,’ she says, seeing the tea and toast. ‘You’re a mind reader.’

I hand her a mug. ‘I figured you might be cold even after the shower.’

I watch as she creates the little nest she always makes when she sits watching television, wrapping her fingers around the mug and curling up on the sofa like a cat. She pulls a fluffy blanket down and wraps it over her legs, building a cushion fort around her, and almost purrs with happiness.

Then she takes a sip of tea, and pulls a face of absolute horror.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask, thinking maybe I’ve put salt in her tea instead of sugar.

‘I am never, ever going on a Tinder date again,’ she says.

I’m not sure why I feel something that is suspiciously like relief. She’s my friend, nothing more. And I need to get a grip. It’s nothing to do with me what – or how – she dates.

‘What happened?’ I say, carefully.

‘Oh God,’ Jess says, then regales me with the tale of Theo turning up plastered, dumping her in a corner, then getting off with someone else – making me roar with laughter.

‘I honestly think dating is some sort of torture,’ I say.

‘You’re not joking.’ Jess pulls the blanket up towards her nose and turns to face me, laughing. She wipes a smudge of black mascara stuff from underneath her eye.

‘I bet you can’t beat that, though?’

‘Mine’s quite tame compared to that,’ I say. ‘I went on a blind date organised by a friend from uni once, when I’d just started working at the law firm. We were working such long hours, it was impossible to meet anyone.’