‘Yep.’ He leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his trainered feet smugly. His sweatshirt was paint-spattered as ever and there was a big rip in the knee of his jeans. Alex’s clothes were always dilapidated. ‘Thought it was about time I got into this clean-living lark. Everyone else is.’ He eyed the empty wine bottles left over from lunch. ‘Well – nearly everyone. You’re not embracing it yourself, then, Mag?’

Since when had Alex become all smug? I caught sight of my sleep-creased face in the mirror behind him; it just made me more cross. Half-cut and crumpled, I felt at a disadvantage.

‘No, that’s right, Alex. Can’t live without a drop, me.’ I tried to keep my hand steady as I tipped instant coffee into a cup, absolutely awake and completely sober now.

‘Don’t you run to the real stuff? I’m sure I left some in the cupboard.’

‘How kind.’ Very deliberately I added water to the Nescafé and slopped it towards him along the counter, past the half-full coffeepot. ‘What do you want, Alex? My dad’ll be back soon.’

‘Great. It’d be nice to see Bill.’

‘I’m not sure Bill would agree.’ With a shudder I recalled the soggy heap I’d been upon leaving the hospital after my final operation, crying intermittently for a solid week, refusing to leave my old room, forcing the occasional slice of toast down to appease my anxious father. He’d held my hand, folding his awkward height to perch on the edge of the bed like he had when I was thirteen. He’d listened while I’d rambled on; when I’d sworn I’d never love another man again he’d promised that I would. He’d driven me back and forth to the flat to collect my things when I knew Alex wouldn’t be there. Patiently he’d accompanied me to the physio, taking time off to drop me there every other day for a month. My father had let me rant and rail when I thought I’d never walk properly again, never walk without a limp.

‘No, well, perhaps not. Look, Maggie –’ Alex stopped. He was struggling with something now, the smug façade slipping until it eventually crumpled. He jangled his car keys from one finger, his nails chewed down to the quick as usual. ‘Maggie.’ His voice was very quiet now as he stared at his dirty old trainers.

My heart was thumping painfully in my chest.

‘This is really difficult.’

‘What is?’ I was impatient now. Just get it over with. ‘Don’t tell me. You’re marrying that girl.’

‘What girl?’ Alex frowned.

‘The anorexic blonde from Bel’s wedding.’

‘Serena?’ He grinned. ‘Are you mad? Why, would you come?’

His lack of sensitivity was no surprise. I ignored him.

‘No, Maggie, it’s just – I thought we should –’

He was interrupted by Digby, who flung himself at Alex like an animal possessed.