My eyes wander around the mirror image of the room behind him. It’s as impersonal as it is luxurious. I could be anywhere in the world. It feels so, so wrong to have left Tabby at the hospital, even if she’s in the care of the most capable person I know. I’m afraid our relationship is pretty co-dependent, and our anxious attachment to each other has ratcheted up this week, amid the stress and uncertainty and unfamiliarity. For all its faults, GOSH is practically a second home to us. This hospital is massive.

Brendan takes a towel and squeezes out my hair when he’s done brushing it. We gaze at each other through the mirror.

‘Food first, or sleep?’ he asks gruffly. There’s an undoubted awkwardness between us. For my part, I’m mortified by my little breakdown back there, and I suspect he has no idea how to behave towards me in a hotel room he hasn’t dragged me to for sex.

I’m considering my options when my stomach growls loudly, and it gets a smile out of him.

‘Some real food would be amazing,’ I admit with a sigh. ‘I’ve been living off protein bars and disgusting sandwiches.’

Brendan’s idea of real food is pretty epic. He puts me in a huge white Sullivan Construction t-shirt, props me up on a mound of pillows in his huge bed and proceeds to feed me a platter of fruit that’s far riper and tastier than the imported shit we get in London supermarkets. I’ve never tasted mango like it. And when I say feed, I mean that he sits on the edge of the bed and feeds me forkfuls like I’m an invalid.

He’s so solicitous, so tender, that it moves me. He’s put on running shorts and a t-shirt, and I’m not above perving over him as he serves me. He’s such a beautiful man, and when he’s quiet and thoughtful like this, he’s almost irresistible.

If only this was his sole personality.

After the fruit come perfectly poached eggs and fans of sliced avocado on some delicious seeded bread, which he again holds to my mouth as if I’ve lost the use of my hands. And tea—really good loose-leaf breakfast tea served in a silver pot. It’s unrecognisable from the shit the hospital vending machines spit out and so exactly what I need that I consider requesting an IV full of it.

‘Thanks,’ I tell him, wiping my mouth with my hand when I’m done mainlining the hotel’s entire food supply. ‘God, I needed that.’

‘And now you need a nap,’ he says, standing so he can move the huge tray away. ‘As do I. I’ll grab the sofa outside.’

I sit bolt upright. ‘No you bloody well will not. This is your bed. Come and lie with me, you doofus.’