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‘Maybe.’

I looked back at my board. What more was there to say about it? I’d found some random pictures of people of different ages, lots of them, representing my dad, my siblings and my friends. I’d cut out some hearts and flowers to illustrate how important they were to me, which I realised was a bit childish in hindsight, but it was too late now, because Theo was staring at it, his head cocked to one side.

‘That’s a whole lot of other people on your board,’ he said, peering at it again.

That was a good thing, wasn’t it?

‘But where are you in all of this?’ he asked.

‘I told you. There in the middle,’ I said, my voice faltering, because now that I had some distance from it and I was having to explain it to someone else, it was clear that other people were totally dominating my board. ‘There’s some books here. And look, there’s a computer screen with some writing on it, and a pile of notebooks. And a bookshop table because I always want to be on the front table but never seemto be. And see here, there’s New York, because I dream of being aNew York Timesbestseller.’

‘Again,’ said Theo, looking up at me. ‘ANew York Timesbestselleragain. Don’t ever forget what we achieved, Scarlett.’

God, I really wished he would go back to being all cold and detached andnotgiving me sexy, smouldering stares.

‘And how does your writing connect with all of these other people?’ he went on. ‘Because it feels kind of separate.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s not. I partly writeforthese people. So that I can support them and help them.’

Theo looked confused. ‘You write for other people?’

Was he serious?

‘Of course. For my family and for my readers. So that I can give something back. Isn’t that what it’s all about?’

He still looked baffled. ‘I’m sorry, but I just don’t get it.’

I snatched up my mood board, moving it out of his sightline. I’d had quite enough of his feedback for one day.

‘And I don’t get why the idea of doing things for other people feels so alien to you,’ I said, a little snippily. I realised, too late, that I was basically accusing him of being self-centred. Which he was, a bit, if you asked me.

‘Because you have to think about yourself, too, Scarlett,’ he said, pulling my vision board closer to him again. I watched his fingers curl around the corner of the card.

‘I don’t see Jackson Clark represented on here. Do you not see him in your five-year-plan?’

He knew I’d been with Jackson, but he thought I was still with him. It hit me like a bolt because I’d thought he hadn’t given me a second thought after I’d left his flat for the last time that morning. So he wasn’t like me, then. He hadn’t avoided reading anything about me because he couldn’t bear it. He could bear it, because he didn’t care, I supposed.

‘We broke up,’ I said.

He looked surprised. ‘When?’

Did it matter? ‘A couple of months ago.’

Theo went to say something but it was as if he stopped himself and changed tack. I desperately wanted to know what he’d originally been going to say. Did he have a secret hatred of Jackson, or something? Had they had a run-in at some high-profile book event that I hadn’t been invited to? I’d made the mistake of telling Jackson the bare bones of what had happened between us and I suspected he’d always harboured a deep-seated grudge.

‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Theo, sounding a little bit as though he wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

‘Thanks. But enough about my life. Show me your board,’ I said, holding his gaze.

But all I could think was: he knew about Jackson. He’d read stuff about me, or he’d spoken about me to someone and somehow that changed things because I thought he’d shut every part of me out, like I’d done with him. And I didn’t know whether it made me feel better or worse that he hadn’t. Because it had been much easier to paint him as the villain – not good enough for me, anyway; more trouble than he was worth. But the more time I spent with him, the more I was beginning to think that he wasn’t as one-dimensional as I’d made him out to be. That I’d never really considered that maybe I was at fault too, somehow. I mean, I hated to be wrong, but that didn’t mean I never was.

Reluctantly, Theo plucked his vision board off the ground, holding it between his thumb and middle finger as though it was something he didn’t particularly want to have to touch, and dropped it face-up in front of me.

‘There,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s not very good. As I said, I don’t do thinking about the future.’

‘Hmmmn,’ I said, taking in his design which was – to say the least – sparse.

There were seven pictures on there in total, all spaced out with what felt like acres of white card in between. Whereas mine had been bustling and full and colourful, his felt bleak and monochrome and empty. How had it taken him an hour to put this together?!