Ten minutes later we stood on the street, after a wobbly journey down the stairs, wrapped in our coats against a bitter wind. But the cold breeze felt wonderful, like inhaling mints, filling my lungs, making my heart beat faster, my blood pump harder.

‘Let’s go to the park,’ I said.

It was far more challenging to walk on crutches outside than in the confined space of my flat, but Charlie stayed close to me, teasing me about being a ‘poor wounded soldier.’ I soon settled in to a rhythm and when I relaxed I felt more alive than I had in two weeks, like I’d been let out of prison.

‘Well, I’m glad you haven’t been institutionalised,’ Charlie said when I told her this.

‘You have been an excellent cell-mate though.’

‘Hmm. More like a warden.’

We passed through the park gates.

‘That gives me an idea,’ Charlie said, a wicked twinkle in her eye. ‘We could play prison guard and inmate. I’ll get some handcuffs and a big stick, and you can wear a jumpsuit.’

‘Kinky.’

‘If you behave yourself, you’ll get special privileges. But if you’re naughty, if you disobey me . . .’

‘You scare me sometimes,’ I laughed.

The park was beautiful. Tree bark glistened with frost. Spidery branches were framed by the steely-blue sky. Chunks of ice floated in the lake where Charlie and I had made love, though I shivered to remember the feeling of being watched and the second-hand memory of the boy who had drowned here, on a day just like this. I stopped to give Charlie a kiss, leaning on my crutches, and we walked on, up to the big house where we bought hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows and watched some pre-school kids running about on the grass.

‘Do you like kids?’ Charlie asked.

‘Kids? Yeah, definitely. I mean, I’m not ready to have any yet, but one day. How about you?’

‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.

I spat out my hot chocolate.

‘Just kidding.’ She laughed uproariously.

‘Charlie! Don’t do that to me.’

‘Judging by that reaction, you’re definitely not ready. No, I do like kids. I sometimes have dreams where I have a little boy who has hair the same colour as mine and he’s wearing a stripy T-shirt and he holds my hand and tells me he’ll love me forever.’

‘That’s sweet.’

‘They never do though. Boys, especially. They always leave their mums.’ She watched a pair of little girls running in circles, shrieking. ‘I don’t know how I’d feel about having a daughter though.’

‘I’m sure you’d be an excellent mum. You’re so caring and nurturing.’

She laughed. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. You look after me.’

She ruffled my hair. ‘You’re my little boy. You won’t leave me, will you?’

‘Never. But the little boy thing is a bit creepy.’

‘Yeah. Sorry about that.’