‘Christ!’ he says, slightly affronted as he comes into the room. ‘I didn’t realise it was that offensive.’

‘It’s not offensive,’ I retort. ‘It drives me absolutely crazy. I can’t bear it. What is it? What do you use?’

He looks bemused as he reaches past me and pulls out a small rectangular glass bottle with clear, caramel-coloured liquid inside, and hands it over. I put it to my nose and inhale, closing my eyes briefly before looking up at him, straight into his amused blue eyes.

The room suddenly feels very small.

And it is small. We’re in his flipping en-suite. I jerk my head towards the door. ‘Let’s go back downstairs.’

He leads the way out, but I quickly spritz his aftershave onto my wrist before following him. He throws a look at me over his shoulder, his pursed lips telling me that he knows full well what I just did. I shrug cheekily and he laughs.

‘Well, you have a very nice place,’ I say decisively when we’re back downstairs. ‘I like it. It’s very grown up,’ I add.

‘That’s a good thing?’ he checks with a frown.

‘Yes.’

He goes into the kitchen. I pull up a stool at his bar table. The whole of the downstairs is open plan with a countertop bar area separating the kitchen from the living room.

‘Drink?’ he offers.

‘Sure. What are you having?’

‘I fancy a beer.’

‘What else have you got?’

He peers in the fridge. ‘Beer,’ he states, glancing over at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.’

‘I’ll have one, then,’ I tell him with a grin.

I have a flashback to Lachie cracking open a couple of bottles and chinking them as he hands them over. The image makes me wince and suddenly my nose is prickling. I quickly hop down from the stool.

‘Is this a loo?’ I call of the door under the stairs, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice.

‘Yep,’ he replies.

I go into the cloakroom and lock the door behind me, catching a glimpse of my reflection through blurry vision.

There’s a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball and suddenly I miss Lachie so much, I want to sob my heart out.

I try very, very hard not to, but it’s a while before my throat returns to normal and the pricking at the back of my eyes recedes.

I return to the living room.

‘Are you okay?’ Alex asks with concern.

I nod quickly and smile brightly. ‘Fine!’

‘You’re not,’ he states.

‘Don’t,’ I cut him off. ‘Please.’

He goes over to the sofa, running his hand through his hair and scruffing it up as he sits down.

‘How did you break up?’ he asks.

I swallow, the lump back in force as I join him at the other end of the sofa. I shake my head quickly.

‘Was it you or him? Or mutual?’

‘More him than me,’ I reply unsteadily. ‘I wanted kids. He didn’t.’