“Oh my God. Charlie Burroughs has missed the point of words. Let me get my phone and record this auspicious moment.” I pinch him. He laughs but then quickly sobers, pushing the hair back from my face. “The song’s not saying that, Charlie. It’s saying that we’ll face hard times, but as long as we’re together even in those bad times there will always be warmth and comfort. That’s us in a nutshell.” He shakes his head disapprovingly at me. “Don’t start that crap anyway,” he advises me.

“What crap?” I squint at him.

“The crap where you think you’ve got to be perfect for me.” I bite my lip, and he smiles fiercely. “I knew it. I knew you were doing that. You’ve done it for every single boyfriend you’ve ever had, and it’s never got you very far.”

“I do try to do it with everyone,” I admit. “But I don’t think I’ve managed to be all sunshine for you and that fucks me up because I want to be the best I can for you, and I haven’t managed it.”

Misha smiles. “And can I just say how fucking happy I am about that?”

I’m shocked. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I don’t want the face you show to the rest of the world. I want the real Charlie with his very occasional grouchiness. I want the man that no one else sees. That’s my reward in our relationship. The ability to see you unvarnished.”

“Why on earth would you want to see me pissed off? Is there something wrong with you?”

“Because that’s you, and I want all of you. That’s what partners see.” He shrugs again. “And let’s face it, Charlie, compared to most people, you’ve got the temperament of Saint Stephen.”

“Wasn’t he stoned to death?”

“Don’t nitpick.” He pulls me close and kisses my head, and we lie quietly together for a while. Then he stirs. “It’s possible to be in love and not feel trapped, you know.”

I stiffen because this is the heart of my fears, and Misha has unerringly homed in on it. “How?”

“When I think of you, I don’t think of chains. I think of laughter in the dark and the sweet smell of all your bloody candles which means that we’ll never be caught short by a power cut. I think of the man who builds dangerous book towers on his bedside table that threaten life and limb, and who makes my house a real home by making me buy fucking orange sofas. The man who makes me face the prospect that I’m going to have to continue buying bookshelves until one day either our floors collapse or we give up and buy a new house. I think of being in love with my best friend and staying that way.”