“Oh, hello, Aidan,” he singsongs.

My stepdad’s mouth twitches. “Evening, Misha. Nice to see you paying us a visit.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say earnestly, bending over Misha. “I’m so fucking sorry. That argument at the wedding was totally my fault. I was just pissed off about having the turn, and then I saw you talking with that bloke, and it got messed up in my head, and …”

Completely ignoring my stuttering apology, he brandishes his phone wildly at me, almost hitting me on the nose. “Never mind that. This song is for you,” he says forcefully. “You asked me to pick a song for you, and this is my song for you now.”

“What?”

He nods, but then closes his eyes in mute protest at the movement. He opens them again. “I’ve come to out-romantic you, you… you motherfucker,” he slurs, fumbling with his phone.

The phone blares, and we all stare at it.

“With ‘Tragedy’ by Steps?” I say doubtfully.

A blush stains his cheeks. “I can’t imagine how that got in there. Who put that in my phone?” he says, trying hard for indignation, but it’s not working, and I repress a smile. He carries on talking. “Anyway, that’s not the song. This is it.”

“Automatically Sunshine” by the Supremes starts to play.

“What is…?” I start to say.

“Shush! Listen to the lyrics. They say everything about us.”

So we stand in the hall over the prostrate figure of Misha and listen to the song that he’s given me, and it’s the most surreal moment of my life. Aidan looks like he wants to laugh. He’s also holding his phone in a manner that strongly suggests he’s videoing this. I shake my head reprovingly and then swallow hard as I listen to the sweetest lyrics I’ve ever heard. Jesus, is this the way Misha really feels about me?

Misha lies back on the floor, apparently dead to the world, but when the song finishes he opens one eye. “Told you I could be the most fucking romantic man on the whole fucking planet.”

“Yes, you did warn me,” I say faintly.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes again. “Think your neighbour might be a bit pissed off though.”

“Why?”

“Thought he was you. I got halfway through my grand speech, and he asked me to leave.”

“You had a speech? Why aren’t I hearing it?”

“Because I’m very sleepy now.”

Aidan claps. “And that’s our cue. Come on, Misha. Up you get.”

He leans down and grabs Misha’s hand, hauling him up. Misha wavers, and we instantly slot our shoulders under his arms, and half carry, half drag him into the lounge.

“On the sofa,” Aidan gasps.