“Yes, and you have no idea the pains I went to in choosing the songs on it. It took ages.”

He takes the tape from me and looks down at it curiously. “And why have you made this?” he asks, and I’m sure it’s my imagination, but he appears to be holding his breath.

“I wanted to tell you about my f-feelings.” I stumble over the silly words, and his bloodshot eyes grow bright.

“Your feelings?” he says in a soft voice. I nod. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” He looks down at the tape. “Or make me a Spotify playlist.”

“Ack, I never thought of that.” I scuff my foot on the flagstones. “I wanted to send you a message, and it had to be this way,” I say stubbornly.

“Was the message to get out of your bed? I seem to remember you saying that was the only message you’d ever want to send.” The twist to his mouth is sad, and I have an intense desire never to see it again on those soft lips

“Never,” I say, far too fervently. I roll my eyes. I’m committed to this ridiculous endeavour now.

He looks down at the tape. “I think I’ve got a tape player somewhere in the house.”

I hold up my hand imploringly. “Please don’t make me listen to the thing. Bad enough that I made it.”

His lip twitches, and the pink tinge on his nose suddenly catches my attention. “You’re going to get burnt,” I jerk out. “You never pay attention when you’re painting. You need someone to look after you.”

He bites his lip, hope written all over his face. “Is that you?”

“I think it might be.”

He looks at me quizzically, the familiar note of doubt in his eyes, and suddenly his uncertainty rankles like I’ve grabbed a stinging nettle.

“The thing is, it could be me,” I say crossly. I’m off and running. “But you didn’t give me a chance to take care of you, so you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

He goes extraordinarily still. “Would you have wanted a chance?”

“I know you think I can’t look after anyone, that I’m shallow and selfish and—”

“Mags,” he interrupts. There’s a new note in his voice that makes my chest feel warm and my eyes hot and tight. “Mags, I never meant any of that fucking stupid stuff I said. You must k-know that. For God’s sake, you’re fucking wonderful.”

I ignore the ridiculous words that make me feel warm inside. “The thing is, Laurie, look at the dog.”

His brow furrows. “Why?” he asks cautiously.