‘Sorry I couldn’t make drinks,’ she said, placing her cappuccino on the table and slipping out of a bright red jacket to reveal a leaf-green dress, both of which represented a surprising departure from her usual fashion palette of greys and black, ‘but things are full on at Lovelock’s and I have to be back for a meeting. I’ve been handed way more responsibility than was originally planned, which is great, obviously, but at the same time… well,’ she shrugged and smiled, ‘it’s full on.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘We can arrange a drink when things ease up for you.’

‘Hmm,’ she said, her smile broadening, ‘well, here’s the thing. I’m not sure they’re going to ease up any time soon, because Vincent – Vincent Lovelock – has already started talking pay rises and promotions!’

‘Wow,’ I said, desperately trying to inject some energy and excitement into my tone, whilst actually wanting to put on my pyjamas and cry myself to sleep. ‘So soon? Congratulations! That’s marvellous. You must have made a real impact.’

‘Don’t like to blow my own trumpet,’ she laughed, ‘but when Vincent and I went for a drink the other night, he said he was surprised that things had kind of stalled for me with Alison. His theory is that she feels threatened by any woman with potential but,’ she wrinkled her nose and flapped a hand, ‘forget I said that. I don’t want to go there, because I know we feel differently about her.’

I reached for my coffee, pausing for a moment to summon the strength to pick it up. I had started the working day on a low and every successive development – my exchange with Cameron, the prospect of a meeting with him and Alison, and now even a coffee with Ruby – seemed to be further draining me of any remaining light and optimism.

‘I’m so pleased things are going well,’ I said, managing the positive response thanks only to a huge effort of will. Sadly, I couldn’t quite muster a smile to go with it. So instead, I lifted my coffee to my lips and blew, in an attempt to hide my less-than-ecstatic reaction to Ruby’s news. She was just so obviously happy and completely lacking in any regret about leaving Bristol and, as much as I hated myself for it, I couldn’t help resenting her that, as I floundered around in a quagmire of crappy colleagues and neighbourhood angst.

‘Edie?’

I looked up, as she placed her hand lightly on mine.

‘Edie, has something happened?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re clearly not,’ she said gently. ‘You look like death and you’re staring at your coffee like it’s a bloody van Gogh. What’s wrong? Is it a hangover? Or,’ she paused, her expression darkening, ‘is it Jason? Because, if he’s still messaging you, I’ll—’