It turns out that it is that difficult, because the coffee machine appears to need someone with an electrical engineering degree to operate it. Ten minutes later, after much swearing and cursing, I finally have silky milk, and I’m facing the prospect of murder at Mrs Sinclair’s hands for the state of the kitchen. Milk is everywhere, along with sticky patches of honey and sugar. Even as I watch, a syrupy dollop detaches itself from the cupboard and plops down over the coffee machine.

I slump on my barstool and look at the mug in front of me on the counter. It doesn’t look the same as when Laurie made it—it’s a strange grey colour. I take a cautious sip and wrinkle my nose. It doesn’t taste the same either. I take another sip and sigh. It’s horrible, but that’s mainly because he isn’t sitting next to me dipping his biscuits in my cup because he says he doesn’t want crumbs in his own.

I stand up and search in the cupboard to find the biscuits he liked, but one bite makes my stomach turn over and makes me miss him more, if that’s possible.

A knock on the door sounds, and despite all my best efforts, my heart picks up speed. Is it him? I waver, and the knock sounds again. Do I want to talk to him or not? I look pitiful. I’d rather have met him with a young man on my arm, looking confident and impervious in one of my nice suits rather than pyjama shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt.

I hear footsteps move away, and the thought that he might not try again galvanises me into furious action. I race for the door, banging my knee on the cabinet, and throw it open, cursing under my breath.

I look at the man in the corridor and slump. Not him. “Yes?” I say crossly, and his eyes widen.

I still have the blanket over my head. I growl and he takes another step back. Then I take a closer look at him. It’s Luke. Laurie’s brother. Even if I hadn’t seen him before, I would know he’s related to Laurie. He has the same dark, wavy hair and thin face that the Gentry siblings share.

Worry engulfs me. “Where is he? Is he okay?” I snap.

He hesitates, seemingly struck dumb.

“Well? Answer me. Is Laurie alright?”

Realisation dawns. “Oh. H-he’s fine,” he stammers. He bites his lip. “Well, maybe not. I know it’s very late, but is it okay if I come in? It’s Magnus, isn’t it?”

I sigh. “Call me Mags. Everyone else seems to do so lately.”