I had, I realised, been wrong; she clearly couldn’t move on from the topic of a man who had ultimately rejected her. Her pause had merely been for thought.

‘How often does he message you?’ she pressed, picking up her drink, her eyes narrowing as she waited for my reply with an impatience she couldn’t hide.

‘Message me?’

‘All these bridge-building messages you’re exchanging.’

‘Oh, I see. No,’ I shook my head and then, with a lack of hesitation which surprised even myself, I lit the fuse. ‘The bridge-building has taken place in person.’

‘You’ve seen him?’ She was clearly appalled – and outraged. In the past, I would have mistaken that for the righteous indignation of a protective friend. Now I recognised it as the jealous rivalry of a woman who saw me as competition.

I pretended not to notice. ‘He’s talked to Giles too, which I’m pleased about. I never wanted their friendship to end because of me. But what are house prices like in Bath? They’re pretty comparable to Bristol, aren’t they?’

Fury and disbelief still etched across her face, she ignored the real estate enquiry. ‘Does he want to get back together with you?’

I frowned at her for a moment and then said, ‘Let this go, Ruby. Stop worrying about it.’

At that, and with obvious effort, she managed a smile. ‘What do you mean? I can’t help being worried for you. You’re my friend.’

I was tempted to ask her for a definition of the term, but resisted. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I’m not as fragile as you think.’

‘Of course, I know how strong you are. But spending time with him must still be upsetting for you. It makes me really angry to think that he even wanted to see you.’

That at least, I thought, was the truth.

‘I’m past being upset,’ I said. ‘He’s got a problem and he’s trying to sort himself out by confronting what he is and what he’s done. Obviously, it’s a lengthy process,’ I added with a sigh, ‘due to the fact that he’s done quite a lot. By his own admission, most of his encounters are a bit of a blur.’

‘Bastard,’ she murmured.

‘I think you’re angrier with him than I am.’

‘I’m as angry with him as you should be,’ she snapped, looking up sharply. ‘I don’t think you know just how awful he is. No one was off limits, Edie. Even…’ She hesitated theatrically.

‘Even you?’

She blinked in confusion. I guessed that she had been anticipating a lengthier, more drawn-out conversation on the subject; one that involved lots of anxious questioning on my part, before she finally revealed, reluctantly and with some distress, that Jason, just like Cameron, had burdened her with unwanted attention.

‘What?’ she said, clearly thrown.