A Night In With Audrey Hepburn. Lucy Holliday

meant what happened on location today. The fire thing.’ He pulls back and looks down at me, wincing, as if he hardly dares peek under the straw sunhat I’m still wearing. ‘I wasn’t sure how much to believe of what the crew were saying, but have you actually burnt off all your hair?’

      ‘No, no, only half. Do you promise not to laugh?’

      ‘Of course.’

      I wouldn’t do this for many people – in fact, Olly and Nora are pretty much the only ones I can think of – but, with a bit of a flourish, I take off my sunhat.

      Olly presses his lips together, hard, but he can’t disguise the fact they’re curling upwards.

      ‘You promised,’ I remind him, ‘not to laugh.’

      ‘I’m not laughing. I’m absolutely not. Honestly, Lib, it’s not even that bad …’

      ‘Liar.’ I open the front door further so he can come in. ‘Anyway, believe it or not, losing half my hair – oh, and my job, by the way – is only the second worst thing that’s happened to me today … Ta-da!’

      With another flourish, I display my chopped-in-half flatlet.

      ‘You lost your job?’ Olly says. He’s staring at me, and not at the flatlet.

      I nod.

      ‘But … that sucks.’

      I nod, again.

      ‘Well, do you want me to speak to Vanessa for you? Threaten to put the catering truck on strike if you’re not reinstated as … hang on, what was the part you were meant to be playing today?’

      ‘Extra-terrestrial Spaceship Technician.’

      ‘… reinstated as Extra-terrestrial Spaceship Technician? I’m serious, Libby, I’ll do it. And Vanessa would have to listen to me, because if there aren’t any bacon sandwiches ready at six in the morning the next time that crew is on location, she’ll have a riot on her hands.’

      ‘That’s really nice of you, Ol, but I don’t want that.’ I don’t add the obvious – that wild horses couldn’t drag me back to work on The Time Guardians after my toe-curling humiliation this morning – but there’s no need to, because I can see that Olly gets it without me having to say anything. ‘I’ll be fine. Job-wise, I mean. I’ve pre-paid the first month’s rent to Bogdan, and I’ll find something new in time to cover next month’s.’

      ‘Sorry – Bogdan?’

      ‘Oh, yeah, he’s my new landlord. In fact, that reminds me, Olly, you don’t happen to know what a secret camera in a bathroom might be hidden behind, by any chance?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘It’s just that Bogdan seems to have a bit of a thing about girls taking showers and putting on body lotion …’

      ‘OK, that’s it.’ Looking more than just a little alarmed, now, Olly picks up my jacket from where I’ve hung it on the back of the door, and holds it out for me to put on. ‘You’re coming back to my flat tonight.’

      ‘No, Olly, seriously, it’s fine. He thinks I’ve got a boyfriend now, anyway.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Bogdan.’

      ‘No, I mean, who does he think your boyfriend is?’

      ‘Oh, well, you, of course. So apologies, Ol, but you’ve just accidentally got stuck with me as an unwanted girlfriend!’ This is getting dangerously close to Mistaken Thing territory, I realise, so I add, hastily, ‘But don’t worry, you can dump me as soon as I’m sure there really aren’t any hidden cameras in the bathroom. Or anywhere else, for that matter.’

      Olly turns round for a moment to hang my coat back up on the door, which takes him a lot longer than you’d think, because he keeps fumbling with the loop on the inside of the collar and almost dropping it on the floor.

      ‘Well, anyway,’ he says, as he eventually succeeds in getting the coat hung and turns back to me, ‘I’m a little bit worried about getting all your furniture in here. The place is quite a bit smaller than I thought it would be.’

      ‘Yes, that’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. Bogdan’s put that bloody wall up and made one flat into two!’

      Olly gazes around the flat for the first time – well, gazes is a bit inaccurate, given that it only takes about three-quarters of a second to look at the place in its tiny entirety – and lets out a whistle.

      ‘You know, I really don’t think the furniture is going to fit.’

      ‘Look, can’t we start bringing it up before I start panicking about that?’

      ‘Lib, there’s no way we can get all that heavy stuff up here by ourselves. Which is why I asked Jesse to meet me here … ah, hang on. That could be a text from him right now.’ He fishes in his jacket pocket, takes out his phone, and nods. ‘Yep. That’s him, on his way from the tube. Look, I’ll go down and meet him, and you can crack …’ He produces, from the paper carrier I’ve only just noticed he brought with him, a bottle of champagne. ‘… this open!’

      ‘Oh, Olly, you shouldn’t have.’

      ‘Well, you don’t move into a new flat every day. Not even a chopped-in-half one with a pervert for a landlord.’

      I laugh. I can’t help it.

      ‘My wine glasses are all in the boxes you picked up from Mum’s yesterday, though.’

      ‘Ah, well, that’s precisely why I brought a few of those boxes in already and left them at the bottom of the stairs. I’ll get Jesse to start bringing them up while I get the van open.’

      ‘No, no, don’t worry. I’ll come down and get them.’

      We tramp all the way down the four flights of stairs together, then he heads off to his van, parked just round the corner apparently, and I start lugging one of my cardboard boxes up to my flat … then go back down to get another … then another …

      The last thing I want to do is criticize Olly, not when he’s being so lovely and so helpful, but he and Jesse are taking a bloody long time to start getting this furniture in, aren’t they? I mean, seriously, it’s only a small armchair, a coffee table and a three-drawer plywood chest. If it weren’t for the bulk, I’m sure I’d be able to bring them up by myself.

      Still, at least I’ve had the time to get all these boxes up, and I ought to be able to find the glasses in one of them. This one, most likely, that I’ve labelled NESPRESSO MACHINE AND MISC: sounds like it’s where I might have packed my kitchen bits and bobs. I open it up just as I hear a rather out-of-breath voice behind me.

      ‘I’m telling you, Lib. This isn’t going to fit.’

      It’s Olly, who’s coming through the doorway. He’s purple in the face with exertion, his shoulders are straining underneath his T-shirt, and he’s gripping one end of the most enormous sofa I’ve ever seen.

      Not only enormous, in fact, but upholstered in some truly terrible apricot-hued rose-patterned fabric that makes it look like a bomb has gone off in the world’s most twee garden centre.

      ‘Well, it might technically fit,’ an equally purple-faced Jesse grunts, inching through the door with the other end of the sofa, ‘but there’s not going to be much room for anything else.’

      ‘But this isn’t the sofa I put aside!’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Olly cranes his head round to look at me.

      ‘I mean, this isn’t the sofa I put aside! I didn’t put aside a sofa at all, in fact! It was meant to be a leather armchair.’

      ‘Well, this is the stuff Uncle Brian told us you’d chosen.’