Tears dripped from her cheeks and the flesh was mottled pink around her collarbone, the same flush she got when she was aroused. The smell of stale sweat and alcohol came off her, which led me to spot the two bottles of red wine, one on the bed, folded in the quilt, another tipped over on the floor, a stain like blood on the carpet.

She picked up the knife from the pillow. I was sitting sideways on the bed, my torso twisted towards her. I backed away, held my palms up towards her. ‘Charlie, put that down, please.’

She didn’t put it down. She pulled up the front of the camisole with her free hand, revealing two long slashes across her belly, one either side of her navel. They were shallow, more like scratches than cuts. She held the long blade of the knife against her stomach, across her belly button, and stared at me staring at her.

‘Oh my God.’ I moved towards her.

‘Don’t,’ she hissed.

‘Charlie. Please. I love you. I promise, nothing happened. Nothing will ever happen between me and Sasha. Please, put the knife down. Don’t hurt yourself.’

She continued to stare at me.

‘I see Sasha like a sister. A friend. That’s all.’

I edged closer. Her arm was rigid, knuckles white where they gripped the knife handle. I reached out, terrified she would cut herself, a little part of me scared that she would lash out at me. She was silent, tears running down across her face, snot glistening in her nostrils, breathing audibly, deep, wet breaths.

My fingertips touched her arm. With all my might, I forced my hand not to shake.

‘Please, sweetheart,’ I whispered. My fingers closed around her forearm, and I felt her relax slightly. She let me gently pull her arm away, extricate the knife from her hand. I threw it across the room, where it skidded and spun beneath the chest of drawers.

I tugged the front of her camisole down and, shuffling towards her on my knees, pulled her into an embrace. Her body was rigid at first, but as I whispered to her and told her everything was going to be all right, she slowly relaxed. Finally, she hugged me back and started to sob.

We stayed like that for a long time before either of us spoke.

‘I’m sorry, so sorry, so sorry, oh Andrew, I’m so—’

‘Sshhh. It’s OK, it’s OK.’

It was so quiet in the room that I could hear children playing in the grounds of the school three streets away, could make out the song on a radio playing somewhere else in the building.

Finally, Charlie pulled away from me and said, ‘Let me go to the bathroom.’