“When we met, I was very free and single and firmly convinced that marriage and monogamy were heterosexual propaganda. I didn’t want it, and I definitely didn’t want any ties.” Aidan laughs. “And then one day I opened the curtain to a cubicle in casualty and there he was.” He shrugs. “And those ties I hadn’t wanted? Well, he was all of them straight away, but I refused to admit it because he scared the living shit out of me. He could have done so much better than me. I knew it, and I was convinced he’d come to his senses very quickly, so I played him up and I insisted that we weren’t in a committed relationship despite knowing damn well that we were. The short story is I did some shitty things, and he dumped me. He said that he didn’t want to share me, and when I scoffed, he broke up with me. Shocked me silly, and I missed him and you so fucking much for those couple of awful weeks we were apart that I knew we were meant to be. We got back together, and that was it. I got the family I never knew I needed.”

“I’m so glad you came back,” I say.

“Me too.” He smiles. “The moral of that little story is that we shouldn’t do other people’s thinking for them, Charlie, because it never ends well. There’s a reason that we’re only given one brain, and it’s because we can barely cope with the one we’ve got. Don’t presume to know what Misha is thinking. He’s always been a straightforward lad, so just ask him what you want to know.”

Before I can reply, the doorbell rings. And rings. And rings.

“Who can that be?” I say, getting up and walking into the hallway. “Has someone passed out against the doorbell again?” I open the door and freeze. “Misha,” I exclaim, my heart starting to thump madly.

He’s leaning against the doorjamb wearing his suit trousers and a shirt which is half untucked. His tie is at half-mast and… I lean closer. “Bloody hell, you stink of drink,” I say.

“Why thanksh,” he slurs, smiling. “You say the most… the most lovely thingsh.” He leans towards me, misplaces his balance, and lurches forward violently. I step back, instinctively protecting myself, and he falls flat on his face in the hallway.

“Oh my God, Misha,” I gasp, leaning over him. “Are you alright?”

He rolls over and looks up at me and Aidan, who has come to stand beside me. My stepfather is trying hard to repress a smile.

I turn back to Misha, who is staring blearily at me. “I can see two… two of you, Charlie,” he mutters. “Fuck, my eyesight is going. They say it happensh when you get old.”

“There are two of us,” I say patiently. “Me and Aidan.”