I attempt a smile and continue to make the tea. ‘I didn’t know a burnt egg could make such a dreadful smell.’

‘Would you rather a hot whiskey?’ he says, moving over to my side. He’s bare-chested, wearing a baggy pair of joggers. The woody smell from his shower gel blurs the burning smell for a brief moment.

‘What?’ I say, confused.

‘You look so sad, Tara. Let me make you a hot whiskey and then you should go to bed and try to sleep.’

Two hot whiskeys later, my eyes can no longer stay open.

It’s after eight when I finally wake. My head still feels like it doesn’t belong to me but I get out of the bed and put my dressing gown on over my underwear. I wish Faye was here so I could talk to her. She’d make me feel better like she always does. But she’s on student placement and has an overnight at the hospital tonight.

I drag myself downstairs in the hope of killing a few hours watching something on the TV. I’m settled onto the sofa in the living room flicking through the TV channels when Andriu arrives with two glasses and a bottle of wine. He seems to think alcohol is the only remedy for my broken heart which surprises me because he usually never promotes it. Especially when it comes to Faye.

‘Wanna talk?’ Andriu sits down on the chair opposite the little wooden coffee table that Faye’s mam no longer wanted.

‘It will get easier, you know,’ he says. Hearing his words brings a tsunami of tears to my eyes. I can’t help it. If someone says boo, I’m off.

Andriu sits with me. He listens when I tell him how much I miss my mam. We open a second bottle of wine and before I know it, I’m lying on the sofa ready to fall asleep again. My head is spinning from the drink. Faye is so lucky to have a considerate, caring man like Andriu in her life. I close my eyes.

‘Get out… Get the fuck out!’

I’m woken by screams coming from upstairs. I sit up suddenly. I’m going to be sick.

‘You cheating bastard… Get out. Get out!’

I rush out to the hallway and get hit in the face by a flying T-shirt. Faye is tossing all Andriu’s clothes over the bannisters onto the floor in front of me. I’m holding my mouth closed, trying to stop the vomit from rising. I rush to the kitchen because I’m not attempting to go upstairs into the unfolding nightmare.