Uncertainly, he went in and picked up the fallen mate to the shoe, paired them neatly on the chair, and then spun around as a drowsy voice, fluttering from the edge of sleep, murmured from the bed, ‘Who’s that? Is it you, Jas? I never…I couldn’t find…Oh my God, it was so cold, it was so dark…’

She sat up in her tumbled bed and gazed at Seymour for a moment as though she’d never seen him before in her life. Then she picked up the alarm clock, shook it disbelievingly and wailed, ‘Oh hell, the bloody thing didn’t go off! Or else I forgot to set it or something dumb…now I’m going to be late! Be a love and make us a cup of strong black coffee, plenty of sugar, would you?’

While she was in the shower he washed out yesterday’s cups and set the tray, transferring some of the sugar to a fairly clean glass bowl. There was a shrub just by the steps, bearing a few determined pallid flowers. Impulsively he reached out and broke off a sprig and set it on the tray next to Angie’s cup. She emerged from the shower and sat at the makeshift dressing-table to comb her hair. Watching her reflection, Seymour thought that each tug of the comb seemed to cause her pain and that she also looked pale, almost waxen, like the flowers. When she noticed the spray he thought she was about to cry. But then the corners of her mouth tilted upwards into a sparkling smile.

‘Why, mate, that’s terrific! That’s really sweet, putting flowers on the tray, you make me feel special. No kidding, I always know straight off if I’m going to hit it off with people, and I wasn’t wrong about you, was I?’

Seymour sat, dazzled with happiness. Once, he remembered, he’d bought a bunch of early violets for his mother. She’d said, ‘It’s rather a waste of money, violets don’t last much longer than one day. Didn’t you know that, Seymour?’ Angie put on her make-up and when she’d finished, she picked up the flower spray and tucked it behind her ear. He stopped thinking about those other flowers, the violets.

‘Angie, if you don’t feel well, you don’t have to worry about going out,’ he said generously, still concerned about her pallor.

‘But I feel okay,’ she said, surprised. ‘Why shouldn’t I be? I’m always a bit slow and dithery first thing in the morning, that’s all, but once I’ve had my coffee I’m ready to take on the whole world. You wait and see.’

‘Coffee’s not enough for your breakfast,’ he said awkwardly, trying not to sound like Thelma. ‘You should eat something to go with it.’