“She was never happy,” I say darkly. “Such a demanding person. It was like being the elder brother of Marco Pierre White.”

“I can’t imagine where she got that from.”

I pinch him. “Get out of the shower, lazybones.”

He steps out, swaying slightly, and I quickly strip off my underwear, wrapping a towel around my hips before swathing him in his own towelling nest.

“Teeth next,” I say briskly. I hand him his toothbrush and squeeze the paste out, holding on to his hip as he brushes in a desultory fashion. “Enough,” I say after a minute. I step back as he spits into the basin and then I help him into the bedroom.

He heads almost desperately for the bed, but I guide him into a sitting position on the mattress. He makes a grumbling sound, his eyes already closing.

“Just another few minutes,” I soothe. “Just need to get your hair dry.”

I leave him sitting for a minute while I look for the hairdryer and then another minute while I search for a fucking plug socket near him. Finally finding one, I plug the hairdryer in and aim it at his hair.

“Did you comb it?” he mutters.

“What am I? Vidal Sassoon?” I ask, huffing. I grab his comb and draw it gently through the long length of his hair. It’s a dark caramel colour because it’s wet. “You’ve got more hair than one of those troll dolls,” I observe.

He smiles, his eyes still shut. “Such a flatterer. I can see why you get laid so much.”

“They come for the looks. They stay for the cock.”

He laughs, and I smile, starting to dry his hair, tunnelling my hand through the waves under the hot air. He sits quiescently. When I’ve finished, I open his case and rummage through it until I find a pair of briefs. He sits still while I kneel and put his legs through them and pull them up.

“You’re very spoilt,” I observe, and he yawns widely without putting his hand over his mouth, showing white teeth and a very pink tongue.

“I am very lucky.” He yawns again. “I’m so tired,” he says, and the words drag and slide.

“Get into bed.” I pull the covers back, and he swings his legs up, sighing in satisfaction.

“God, that feels good,” he slurs. I pull the covers over him, tucking him in, and his eyes suddenly fly open. “What about Harry?”

“What about him?” I say evenly.

“Where is he? He might want to get back in the room for his stuff. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to be in the same room.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” I say smoothly. “He’s gone out anyway, and I’ve locked the door.”

He nods, and his eyes slide shut. “Lie with me,” he whispers.