He has been standing rigid, but now springs into action and hurries around to her side of the bed, leaving his glass on the floor and perching on the mattress so that he can feel the press of her hip against him. She is still moving, but with the slow unsteadiness of someone seriously intoxicated. The sounds that are coming out of her mouth are unformed grunts.

‘It’s all right,’ he says to her. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, you’ll see. Just lie back now, my dear. It will all be over soon.’

He reaches for her arms, but she resists him, her shoulders rising defensively as she attempts to roll across the mattress away from him. The grunts become words.

‘No, no,’ she says, her voice low and nasal, but there’s urgency in it.

This same urgency communicates itself into his body. He’s feeling panicked now. This is not how he wanted it to be. Not the way he’d planned it. He has to climb on to the bed and lean across her, pinning one of her arms beneath his knee so that he can reach for the pillow and bring it over her face. She thrashes beneath him, finding some last reserves of strength, but he is stronger than she is, and is able to hold the pillow in place, pressing down, all the while saying, ‘Sssh, sssh, my dear,’ in a cooing voice. ‘It will all be over soon. Be calm, my love, calm.’

These words are meant as much for him as for her, for his heart is beating madly with fear. The atmosphere in the room, which had been peaceful, now feels charged with violence and disorder. Her legs are kicking out against the mattress, scrabbling over the sheets, and the duvet slips off the other side of the bed and falls to the floor. He knows this is all for the best, but is shocked at how hard she struggles against it – as if she wants to live.

‘Please, Leah,’ he says.