Mr Greenaway turns me away again tonight and the heavy dread builds inside me. I phone Joel’s mobile from our landline, but it rings and rings and then goes dead.

I can’t settle, so I walk towards the seafront, faster, faster; as I pass all the secret places we’ve been together, the hurt grows. The patch of overgrown railway line above the viaduct where we kissed and I made us go further because I’d never had sex outdoors and my new wildness made it seem like the best idea ever.

The bikers’ pub opposite the station – the one we knew we’d never be spotted in – where we drank cider to toast our one-month anniversary and a woman with the worst tattoos I’d ever seen bought us whisky chasers because she could tell we were in love.

Last week, when it was very late, we went back to the spot on the Lawns where he – technically – died. We crossed the prom to the beach, where the sea lapped at the shore and we paddled and stared at the red-black horizon and the old pier, and it felt like we were looking into our future.

Tonight I watch the sunset again, but I don’t feel the warmth and my brain can’t process the colour. It’s as if someone has dimmed the world to the very lowest setting. There is just enough light to navigate by, but all the landmarks and objects I know are reduced to grey, shapeless things.

Is this it? I count the days we’ve been together. Sixty-seven. Is this all the happiness the world thinks I’m worth?

The third time I go to Curlews, a taxi is leaving, the automatic gates closing behind it. Mrs Greenaway is still in her coat when she answers the door. I can see her suitcases behind her in their giant hallway and her skin has a Costa del Sol glow.

‘Hello, love.’ There’s sympathy in her voice, which scares me. What’s happened between me and her son is obviously significant enough for her to know already.

‘Please tell Joel I’m not leaving until he comes to talk to me.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m going to.’

The door closes gently in my face.

I look up at the house to distract myself. It’s soft and inviting inside, all expensive sofas and thick carpets. But outside, the dark-brown bricks are too uniform and cold, the double-glazed windows designed to shut out the noise and grime that makes Brighton what it is.

When the door opens, Joel stands in front of me and my heart expands, too big for my ribcage.