‘Don’t worry, there’s no drama,’ I said, waving away Giles’s concern. ‘The texts are just accounts of his attempts to understand his own behaviour, plus a few details of what he’s up to now. But yesterday, he mentioned our house in Hotwells, and that obviously didn’t make me feel great about stuff – including not being able to knock a nail into the wall without permission and hearing techno through the floor at three a.m.’ I rolled my eyes and then rested my head on his shoulder as he placed an arm around me in gentle support.

‘So, why don’t you move in here?’

I lifted my head and frowned up at him. Giles sipped his whisky and shrugged. ‘Well?’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘I’m perfectly serious,’ he said. ‘I’ve got three spare bedrooms. Three, Edie.’ He held up the appropriate number of fingers to further emphasise the point. ‘Plus the study. It’s a disgrace of space for a single fellow. It would save you money while you house-hunt and you could have a whole floor to yourself if you wanted to. What’s more, I never play my techno past midnight.’

I opened my mouth to speak but, unsure exactly what to say, I closed it again.

He smiled. ‘Too suburban for you? Too Terry and June – or rather, too June and Stan?’ he asked, gesturing towards the window with his tumbler. ‘I understand and that’s perfectly fine. I just thought I’d offer.’

‘And it’s a really kind offer, Giles. But it would be such a big change for you. You’ve never shared this house with anyone,’ I said, looking around the sentimentally furnished living room and comparing it with my own, somewhat more functional, living space.

He shifted on the sofa, turning towards me, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘So, to clarify, your equivocation is entirely on my behalf, not your own?’

I thought for a moment. Giles was right, his location did seem terrifyingly suburban to me at this point in my life and career. But hadn’t I, only yesterday, been confronting the possibility of having to move from Harbourside and share a home with a stranger? With that possibility, or inevitability, in mind, the offer of sharing a four-bedroomed period home with my best friend was a godsend, and one which I would have had to be an absolute idiot to refuse.

‘I suppose it is,’ I said.

‘Well, in that case, it’s settled,’ he said. ‘Because I am experiencing no feelings of equivocation whatsoever. Move in whenever suits, stay for as long as you like, and knock in as many nails as takes your fancy.’

‘Are you sure?’

He looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe restrict it to three nails per wall but, with that sole stipulation, yes.’ He held out his almost-empty glass towards me. ‘Let’s do this thing, as the kids say.’