He smiled in a making-the-best-of-it sort of way. “At least we can catch each other at the weekends.”

It did slightly make her wonder what the plan was when filming ended. But rationally she also knew it was way too early to be wondering that. “See you next week then.”

He brushed his lips lightly against her cheek. “Looking forward to it, Rosaline-um-Palmer.”

There came the unmistakeable purr of an expensive car engine and the same sapphire blue Jaguar that she’d seen in the first week pulled through the gates.

“Ah,” he said. “This is me. And that’s Liv, by the way. The friend I told you about.”

Not quite sure what else to do, Rosaline waved awkwardly at the barely visible figure behind the wheel. And then went to her usual wall to wait for her father, who, as ever, was too important to be on time.

About ten minutes later, a white van, bearing the legend “Dobson & Son, Electricians: Friendly, Reliable, Local,” rattled past and then pulled to a stop just ahead of her.

Harry rolled down the window. “Well done on the win, mate. Stormed it this week. Need a lift?”

“It’s fine. My dad’s on his way.”

“Thought I’d offer since you was there. I could probably run you back to yours next week if you like. Save you bothering your old man?”

“Oh no,” protested Rosaline. “I couldn’t. You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t. You ain’t hijacking me. But offer’s there if you want it.”

In some ways it would have solved a lot of problems. Her parents continued to insist that picking her up was no trouble but also never failed to remind her after the fact how much trouble they were going to on her behalf. Except getting Harry to run her home instead seemed like it would just be swapping one obligation for another, and at least with her parents it was an obligation she was used to. “Thanks. I’ll bear it in mind.”

“All right. See you next week.”

She watched him go, feeling slightly perplexed. She’d been sure when they first met that she knew exactly what kind of person he was. But she’d somehow got used to him. The way he checked in on her and was there for her. The slow rough-velvet of his voice. The summer-day gleam of his smile. So used to him, in fact, that she almost couldn’t imagine what the show would be like without him.

Week Five

Puddings

Tuesday

ROSALINE HAD JUST put her Jaffa-cake-themed self-saucing pudding into the oven when the electricity cut out. It hadn’t done this for a while, and so it was with relative confidence that she dragged the sofa away from the little cupboard that housed the trip-switch and tried to flip it up.

It flipped down immediately.

And it wasn’t until she’d tried to flip it up three or four more times that she realised if it was still staying down, then it probably needed to be down.

Which meant something bad had happened to her electricity. Possibly something house-catching-fire bad.

She went to her computer to look up the number of an electrician, remembering slightly later than she was comfortable with that it needed electricity to work. As did the oven where her cake was half warming in the remains of the preheat. And the fridge where her ingredients were slowly but inevitably beginning to spoil.

Turning to her still partially charged phone, she googled for electricians in her local area, forced herself through the “How do I know these aren’t con men and murderers” window that always accompanied inviting a stranger into your home on the basis of a number on a website, and then began the slow and stressful process of ringing around. As ever, she encountered a range of answering machines, weird bleeps, phones that rang endlessly, quotes with outrageous call-out fees, and people who were booked up through Sunday. Eventually, she found some bloke who said he’d be with her that afternoon and was only going to charge her eighty quid.

The afternoon ticked on. And the guy neither arrived nor called back, and when she attempted to phone him it went straight to voice mail. Which strongly suggested he wasn’t coming, either because he couldn’t be bothered or because he’d been kidnapped en route.

My electricity’s gone out, she texted Alain—not because there was anything he could do about it but because she needed a sympathetic ear. Well, eye.

There was a brief pause, and then: I’m so sorry to hear that. How are you holding up?

Okay, I guess. Waiting for someone to come fix it. Bit stressed.

You’re welcome back at mine until it’s dealt with.

She stared at the message, wondering what on earth to say that didn’t come across as needy or presumptuous. There were times when British English really needed a plural “you.” What about Amelie?

Unfortunately my house isn’t particularly child-friendly at the moment. I’m sure she could stay with her grandparents or with your friend maybe?

No. No, she was not leaving her child to go shack up with a hot guy. And yes, she’d done that last week, but that was a holiday. This was a crisis. Thanks. I’ll think about it.

When it got to about three, still not quite willing to leave the house and risk being forever blackballed by local electricians as a lady who books you then isn’t in, she called Lauren.

“Have to talk fast,” she said. “I’ve only about ten percent charge on my phone.”

“Then plug it in, dear Liza, dear Liza, plug it in.”

“My electricity’s gone. I’m waiting for a man. Can you get Amelie for me? I’m sorry, I know you’re doing a lot for me at the moment.”

Lauren sighed. “I am rather exerting myself on your behalf, but, fortunately, I’m a wonderful person. I’m on my way. I’d say I expect cake, but I presume you haven’t been able to cook anything either.”

“I know. And this is my practice day. Except now it’s my piss-around-in-my-front-room-waiting-for-an-electrician day.”

Rosaline hung up and used another precious few percent of her battery to let the school know someone else would be picking Amelie up that evening. And then continued the ritual Doing of the Nothing that was pretty much all you could do when the technology that made your life work had stopped working. She tried reading Marianne’s and Wilfred’s various cookery books so it felt like she wasn’t completely wasting her time, but she couldn’t quite concentrate on anything.