She takes my fingers to her mouth, kissing them. ‘I’m good, thanks,’ she says.

I lean forward to kiss her. ‘Bacon sandwich? Red sauce?’ I ask, as she pulls me back towards her.

‘That right there is proof you still have much to learn, Rhys Woods,’ she says, pulling the sheets up over me and locking them down with her arms. ‘As if there is anything other than brown to have on a bacon sandwich.’

‘Brown! You are all kinds of wrong!’ I tease, but she wraps her legs around mine and I decide I’ll probably forgive her that one.

Half an hour later, I’m spreading butter on Michelle’s home-baked bread. I flick on the radio and search out her favourite station. The sound of the shower fights with the sizzle of the bacon in the pan. There’s something beautiful about her being here. Something right. When I told Mum how I felt about Michelle, she said, ‘There are two types of love, Rhys. That which you can’t live without and that which you choose not to live without. Only you can work out the kind you feel, either are perfectly valid.’ And I realise that, although I don’t know which kind of love this is, I know, without a shadow of doubt in my mind, that it is definitely one kind. I love her. Everything about her. Even the fact she has brown sauce on a bacon sandwich when we all know it should be red.

Michelle pads back through to my kitchen, towel wrapped and with wet hair falling over her shoulders. I pass her breakfast as she flicks the kettle on. The mundanity of our actions sends a shiver of contentment up my spine. ‘You all set for today?’ she asks.

I take a bite of breakfast to buy time to mull over my thoughts. ‘I think I am,’ I say, butterflies creeping back into my belly with thoughts of the day ahead. ‘I think I am.’

She pauses, watching me, waiting for more.

‘It’s time to get to know each other properly,’ I say of Susan. ‘We’ve talked a little since she went home. I know she’s been trying to ease herself into life again. She tells me she no longer feels the need to read the fairy stories out loud. She says she’s thinking about moving, finding a home of her own.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

‘Honestly?’ I think for a moment. ‘I feel like I want her to stay close by.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ she asks.

‘No,’ I answer. ‘Pick Mum up as you planned. I need to do this on my own.’ She leans across, wipes ketchup from the side of my mouth and gives me a kiss. ‘I love you,’ she whispers into my ear.

I turn to face her, blown away by how life shifts. ‘I love you too,’ I say, with absolute certainty. There’s a tiny tap on the window, making me look up. A tiny robin red-breast pecks at something on the sill, dotting about before us. ‘Mum always told me robins were loved ones, letting us know they’re okay.’