The following day I brought Edward a vegetarian lasagne as punishment for the dogs. He was up, dressed in a pale green jumper I hadn’t seen before, a colour that drained the blood from his face, and his prior perkiness had given way to a sour mood.

He clashed his cutlery against the plate. ‘What the hell is this dry crap? Just because I’m interested in astronauts doesn’t mean I want to eat their food.’

After insisting he needed to eat more greens, I noticed you leaving your flat. Poker night.

‘Well, let me tell you, Constance. Your pallor is no advert for eating vegetables.’

Edward was soon tired and pasty-looking.

‘If you saw yourself right now, you’re not a great advert for bacon,’ I said, tucking him up in bed. I brought the layers of heavy blankets up to his chin and stroked the hair off his forehead. The sensation instantly soothed him.

Eyes closed, he felt for my other hand and gripped it tight. ‘I’ll eat less of the pigs for you,’ he said.

Once more I stood outside clutching the envelope. This time, determined.

The brutal wind wrapped my hair around my face, suffocating me. Freeing myself from the tendrils, I looked around for other life within the darkness. There was no Tippi Hedren. There was no one.

I performed the procedure like a ballet. The glide across the road, the ascent of the steps, the raising of the large brass letterbox, the smooth insertion that led to the delicate drop, the turn and departure.

With each action the thrill increased.

Lying in Dale’s bed, him snoring next to me, I imagined your return home. The initial dip to retrieve the card from the floor, followed by the surprise at your name pasted, grey, on the front. You’d begin to open it, then stop yourself. Pulse racing, you’d run up to your flat, craving privacy. Door shut. Lights switched bright. Keys clanking into the bowl. With anticipation you’d tear the envelope, then slide out the card. Opening it slowly. Palpitating heart.

This was written for us, you’d read. My words pasted tiny and disjointed. Fluttering stomach. At first, you’d be confused. Then after, when it had sat with you for a while, and you’d undressed, cleaned your teeth, sunk into your soft, rumpled sheets and the beautiful feeling of your body suspended upon your mattress, you’d turn to the card, now propped up on your side table next to your clock, and you’d feel warmth from your bare feet upwards and smile, basking in the love of a stranger. The list of names, possibilities, running through your head again and again until that moment before you reached to switch off your lamp, when your mind lingered on one name predominantly. The one you hoped it was. Constance.

The next day …

The next day all remained the same.