‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ says Ray softly, looking intently back at William. ‘She did, didn’t she?’

William can’t speak.

‘You idiot.’

William clears his throat to try and stop the weird fluttering sensation.

‘You bloody idiot.’ Ray climbs under his sheets.

William sits on his bed, hating himself far more than he hates Ray. What if he’d told her that yes, he did mind her going out with Ray? He minded with every muscle, every bone, every drop of blood in his body, that he knew he could make her happy – he knew he could. But not now Ray’s baby is nestled inside her warm body.

‘All that matters,’ he says, exhausted, ‘is that you look after Gloria.’

‘I know, I know,’ Ray says quietly, ‘I’m not a complete bastard.’

William gets back into bed. ‘Don’t ask me to be your best man.’

‘Oh, come on, I haven’t got any other friends in London.’

‘Ask Roger, or Simon.’

Gloria and Ray are to be married in three weeks, on 23rd July, in the local registry office. The hope is Gloria won’t be showing too much. William can tell already. It seems he knows her body too well; the curve of her stomach, the fullness of her breasts. It’s torture.

Six days after William walked away from his roast dinner, he and Gloria are the only ones at home. This rarely happens. Mrs Finch is at her sister’s, Ray’s on an evening home visit with Mr Finch. Now it’s a given that Ray will work for him, Mr Finch is taking an interest in his training. Assignment finished, William slips down to the kitchen for a cup of tea. After the scream of the kettle has died down, and the fridge door has clunked open and shut, and his teaspoon has been swilled under the tap and dried, William has no more excuses to ignore the sound coming from the sitting room.

Gloria’s sobbing connects with some deep anxiety he doesn’t understand. She must know he’s in the kitchen, that he can hear her crying. He fights the strong feeling he has that he mustn’t intrude, quickly makes a second cup of tea and takes them into the sitting room.

‘Cuppa?’ He holds it out to her, waits for her to thrust her tissue up her sleeve.

‘Ta,’ she says, sniffing a few times. She doesn’t look at him as he sits next to her.

‘You OK?’ he says after a few moments.

‘It’s going to be awful.’

‘What is?’ Her life, he thinks, her marriage?