‘There’s our rising star!’ he beams, jumping up to peck me on the cheek as I come in. ‘Get a load of this,’ he says, shoving a copy of the Daily Heraldat me. ‘Then you’ll appreciate why I’m sitting here basking in reflected glory.’

I turn to the page he’s pointing at to see what he’s on about. Not a news item at all, just the smallest little column buried in a corner of page eight, tucked up in between the weather report and today’s horoscopes. There’s a passport-sized photo of me taken when my hair was still blonde, with the caption: COMEBACK KID.

Fair play to Radio Dublin who’ve taken a chance on the previously unhireable Jessie Woods and have now allocated her their Midnight Hour show. We’ll be listening with great interest to see how she fares in this particular presenting medium, but in the meantime, we’d like to wish her every success and a warm welcome back to doing what she does best. Jessie, it’s been too long.

I can’t talk for a second, just look at Steve, gobsmacked. I’ve been on a self-imposed media blackout for ages now, petrified I’d only read something that would take a shovel to my self-confidence, so to see something kind appearing about me in the print media is…well, it’s lovely actually.

‘You deserve it,’ he grins, shoving the floppy hair out of his eyes. ‘And hey, I’m going down in history as the guy who got you back on the air again…’

‘It’s OK, you can finish that sentence. When no one else would,’ I laugh, sitting down on the empty seat opposite him.

He laughs, then stabs a biro at the pile beside him. ‘Quick idea for tonight’s show. These are all first editions of tomorrow morning’s papers; how would you feel about doing a short piece about what’s in them during your show? Nothing too heavy, just the lighter, more showbizzy stuff. And all distilled into your trademark style, of course.’

‘Terrific idea. Do you mind if I have a quick scan through all these?’ I ask, grabbing a newspaper and flicking through it.

‘Not at all, that’s what they’re here for. Here, I’ll even give you a hand.’

Pretty soon, the two of us are poring over the huge mound of papers on Steve’s desk, me with a highlighter pen in my hand, ready to mark anything that might just work. I stumble on a feature about Emma, an At Home piece, with a gorgeous photo taken in her state of the art kitchen, where she looks as groomed and flawlessly perfect as ever. All to plug her new TV chat show, which goes to air later this month. She’s been up to her tonsils with work lately, as have I, so it’s been a while since we’ve had a decent natter, but still, I make a mental note to call her and wish her all the luck in the world.

Then something else catches my eye. ‘When you said lighter stuff, does this count?’ I ask Steve, pointing to page fourteen of the Star.

‘Gimme the gist of it,’ he says without looking up from the News of the World.

‘OK, how’s this for a crap first date? A woman met a guy for dinner, but while she was in the bathroom, he filched the keys from out of her handbag and stole her car.’

‘You are somaking that up.’

‘Cross my heart, it’s right here. There you go, real life trumps any fiction you could come up with yet again.’

‘Cool. Maybe chat a bit about rubbishy first dates and then you could segue into—’ He breaks off abruptly, tossing away the paper he was reading. I’m so engrossed in the stolen car story that I mightn’t even have noticed, only he made the fatal error of tagging on, ‘Ehh…no, no nothing at all in that paper, just ignore it.’

I look up at him.

‘But that’s the News of the World. Usually that’s the best for this kind of thing.’

‘Don’t worry about it, just leave it.’

Of course now my antennae are well and truly up, so I stroll faux casually over to where he flung the paper, then snatch it up to see whatever it is that he doesn’t want me to. Nosy bitch that I am.

‘Jessie, don’t, really, there’s no need…’

‘Ha, ha, too late,’ I laugh at him, scanning through it at speed.

Oh holy fuck.

I do not believe this. There it is, on the inside, page three. Sam. On the way to the launch of his new book, If Business is the New Rock & Roll, then I’m Elvis Presley. Held in the Mansion House this evening. And probably only getting into full swing right about now. Considering it’s only a book launch, they’ve printed a massive two-page colour spread; I’m only surprised they didn’t print a special pull-out-and-keep supplement to go with it, like they did with the moon landings.

Vintage Sam, his PR people had the press all lined up and ready to snap him and his celeb pals on their way in, nicely in time to make the early edition of all tomorrow morning’s papers. I know I shouldn’t read on but I can’t help myself. La douleur exquiseand all that. Reading through the guest list is like a roll call of every single person who wouldn’t return my calls in the last few months. All present and correct, may it piss rain on the whole shower of them. Sam included. I mean, why can’t he just recoil from the public like a normal billionaire anyway?

Next thing I feel a warm, comforting arm around my shoulder. ‘Jessie, I’m so sorry,’ says Steve. ‘I didn’t mean for you to see this. I had no idea it was in the paper. I never would have suggested you read through them if I’d known…’

‘It’s fine. Really.’ I shrug his arm away. Because that’s how absolutely OK I am with this.

‘It’s completely understandable that you’re still cut up about it. These things take time. Sure you’re all right?’

‘Yes. Honestly. Stop worrying. I’m a big girl.’ Who’s starting to speak in jagged sentences, I’m suddenly aware.

‘You know what we say in showbiz,’ he says gently. ‘Today’s papers are nothing more than tomorrow’s glorified cat box liners.’

I smile, appreciating that he went for a gag.

‘Tell you something though, Jessie, when I saw that Sam Hughes on the documentary they made about you, I just felt like punching the git right in his smug, self-satisfied over-privileged gob.’

I look up at him and suddenly the biggest surge of deep gratitude comes over me. Now why weren’t you around when I was going through the break up? You’re the perfect combination of brotherliness and violence.

Show time and if I say so myself, I’m on fire. Got a lot to prove. Plus every time I think of Sam and his posh launch party in the Mansion House with his even posher friends and all their rarefied, over-moneyed lives, a huge wave of ‘I’ll show you’ energy surges up through me like a volcano.

‘So here’s one for all you listeners out there; why not phone me at The Midnight Hourwith tips about…break-up behaviour? What is it that you like to indulge yourself in to help get you over someone? The phone lines are open, on 1850…’

It’s incredible. I could never have seen this coming. The phone never stops once for the entire duration of the two-hour show. In fact, I could stay on air until 4 a.m. and still not get through everyone. Men and women all calling in to describe how they cope or don’t cope in that nightmarish situation when you’re the dumpee in a relationship which you never wanted to end in the first place.

‘My top tip,’ one female caller rings in, ‘is to destroy all photos of you as a couple, where he looks hot and you look happy. It could set the whole recovery process back months if you happen to stumble on it at a weak moment. And of course, certain parts of the city are just out of bounds. Places you went together, bars where you know he hangs out…’

I barely have time to answer her when another line lights up. Joe from Irishtown rings in to say that the crucial element in recovering from a break-up is to constantly play on a loop in your head everything you hated about your ex. Over and over again, he insists, until you’re actually delighted NOT to be still dating them.