Sharif came loping out of his bedroom, unshaven, hair sticking up, wearing nothing but a pair of fashionably baggy sports shorts. His stomach looked very concave, and the muscles on his torso sharper and stringier, like he hadn’t eaten properly in days. His eyes widened slightly at seeing her, but otherwise he gave away nothing. ‘Hello, Candida, you’re looking well,’ he said with infuriating calm.

‘Well, you’re not. You look awful. What’s going on?’ she said shortly. She wanted to run up to him and comfort away whatever it was that had made him avoid her, but his indifferent demeanour made the few feet between them too great a distance to negotiate.

‘Mate, I’m so sorry, she tricked me, she told me she was the postman,’ Micky started to explain. Sharif’s lip twitched, almost as though he was trying to suppress a smile. ‘Yes, I can see how you thought she might be the postman,’ he said drily.

‘Please go away, Micky, Sharif and I need to talk,’ Candida said firmly. Micky was younger than her, and she found that he tended to listen to her deferentially as a result.

‘Please go away, Candida. Micky and I need to work,’ Sharif said, imitating her. ‘We’re working on some material for the band, you’re interrupting us.’

Micky looked indecisively between the two of them, Candida pale with concern, and Sharif pale with what might prove to be unexploded fury. He decided he’d rather not be alone with Sharif after he had just expressly disobeyed his orders to keep Candida out of his way; Sharif had a filthy temper when provoked. ‘I need to pop out to get … something, anyways,’ he said weakly, and walked out of the door and back down the stairs.

Candida looked back to Sharif. ‘What’s going on, Sharif?’ she asked softly, entreatingly, her lower lip now trembling just slightly despite herself.

Sharif looked at her, an angel in his hallway, her hair shining like a halo around her face, and her summer dress of pure sky blue. He faltered for a moment, before recovering himself. ‘I’m … going back to bed, Candida. I’m working. You can make yourself a cup of tea if you want, before you go. You know your way around the kitchen, don’t you?’ He wandered back into his room, and Candida stood still and stunned, until she heard the taunting sound of chords being strummed casually from his guitar. Furious, she strode into his room. This isn’t funny, Sharif. Is this your sick way of telling me that we’re over, just like that?’

’Funny ha ha or funny peculiar?’ said Sharif, without humour. ‘You know, you’re right, I am a little bit sick,’ he added. ‘And yes, we are over, just like that.’

‘Sharif!’ Candida exploded. ‘What the bloody hell are you talking about! Why are you doing this? I deserve to know why!’