But it doesn’t matter now because we haven’t danced for months. We haven’t really even talked for months. My mind composes words, then the doubts I have about Sonja and her desires rush in, displacing those words, and I stay silent. Sometimes I think she’s watching me as I stand with my back to her, making coffee, slicing bread, reading a letter. I think she’s watching me and I don’t know why.

I went to Cumberland Road again today. The tide was low and the riverbeds were thick with brown mud, stinking in the sun. It was early on the morning of the equinox, already too hot. Ian’s door was locked so I found my little-used key and went in to look for the transformer to take over to Hampton Road. There was a note on the worktop, held down by a twisted lump of steel and as I reached for it a hollowness inflated in my heart. I paused, waiting for the feeling to pass, knowing it wouldn’t. I took the note to the door to read it in the sunlight.

Special - gone to Walcotts in Bath to collect the pillars for H. Road. Can you call Mrs Richards re the damage to the door? The team at Alma Vale Rd need 2 × 20m ext. leads. I tried to say it yesterday but couldn’t. Maybe this is better — I think Sonja’s having an affair. Sorry. Ian

The hollowness was still there as I thought of the foundations dug out behind the house at Alma Vale, thought about having to go to Jewson’s to buy the extension leads. I looked again at the diarrhoea mud of the riverbanks and I knew Ian was right.

I drove up Whiteladies Road, parked the truck on a double yellow line and stood looking at the delicatessen. The Labradors were bumbling about, plump bellies rubbing, tongues slapping at the water. Sonja was laughing with a customer as she wrapped a round of cheese and set the package on the counter. She turned and called out to an assistant and he laughed too. Sonja was glowing, content in her space. I realised I hadn’t seen her laugh for an age; when she was with me she wasn’t like this. She looked up, saw me and her face changed, doubt drowned her eyes.

A traffic warden tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to my truck. ‘Is this yours?’

I nodded.

‘You’d better move it.’

I shrugged and turned back to the shop to watch Sonja as he wrote me a ticket and slapped it on the windshield. He walked away, giving the waistband of his trousers a self-satisfied tug.

‘How did you know?’ I ask Ian, as we sit outside the Kensington, pints of Smiles’ warming in late-afternoon sun.

‘I drive around more than you do. I’ve often seen them together. I didn’t think anything of it the first few times. Then it was obvious. I saw them outside Rocinantes and it was obvious. Something about the way they were sitting, the way they were talking. I don’t know.’