‘No,’ I said, walking away, leaving the pub and not stopping until I had turned the first corner. Then, feeling strangely numb and unexpectedly in control, I texted Giles, explaining the situation and suggesting that we meet at home. We could decide then, I told him, whether to go out or stay in.

Text sent, I began to walk, refusing to think about Jason and instead focusing on whether to catch a bus, call an Uber or just keep walking. As the evening was dry, and as Giles wouldn’t be home for some time yet, I decided on the latter.

Determinedly focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and nothing else, I had just reached the top of Park Street and crossed to the Wills Building, when my eye was caught by the swish of a white-blonde bob and the flash of a red jacket on the opposite side of the road.

I stopped walking and turned quickly, standing on tiptoe and craning my neck in a failed attempt to catch a second glimpse of scarlet amongst the rush-hour pedestrians, sidestepping each other on the packed pavements.

‘It can’t have been her anyway,’ I murmured, sinking back onto my heels. My mood dipped, as I imagined Ruby’s afternoon at her Bath desk, surrounded by pleasant work colleagues who weren’t competing with her for the boss’s attention – or trying to cop a feel.

Still, I told myself, as large drops of forecast-but-forgotten summer rain began to splash down upon me, at least Ruby’s career contentment had hardened my resolve that it was time to effect a similar change in my own life. That was something.

And clinging to that one tiny positive – and deciding not to let a drenching add to the misery of my day – I pulled up the hood of my raincoat, took out my phone and summoned an Uber.

Twenty minutes later, I was crouching on Giles’s doorstep and rummaging through my bag for my keys. A search of my pockets had so far yielded nothing and I was just beginning to wonder if the keys had fallen out in the Uber, when I saw a pair of small grey-trousered legs, splashing up the newly puddled path towards me.

‘I’ve been to Ollie’s and made this,’ said Harry, a little breathlessly, as usual foregoing any needless preamble. He held out a shoebox with some squares of bubble-wrap and a couple of corks stuck to it.

‘Wow! I love that,’ I laughed, standing up and enjoying a brief moment of uplift, it not yet having dawned on me that if Harry was outside my house, his mother would probably not be far behind.

‘We always have to sit down at Ollie’s, in case we break stuff,’ said Harry, providing just enough information for me to deduce that Ollie’s mother was precious about her possessions and preferred to operate a system of containment during playdates.