Your eyes didn’t glint knowingly towards mine. Dishearteningly, you didn’t hint at having received the card or that you’d hoped it’d been sent by me.

All that effort. All the love I’d poured into it. Into you.

I tried to be content with just following, watching. Remaining strong and not making silent calls. But like Mum with Martin, the smallest thing can hurl you into the comforting arms of addiction.

It had been a particularly bad day. Harris was even more of an insufferable prick than usual. Red-faced and spitty, he’d told me to ‘pull my socks up’ because I’d forgotten to call Mrs Wheatley about her results. And when I’d finally left Wankerville, I called Dale on the way round to Edward’s to moan about Harris, but all I got was, ‘Well, you did forget to call her, I suppose’ and ‘I can’t believe you’re still visiting this Edward guy. I think you need to sort out your priorities.’ It didn’t dawn on him that I was. That I actually preferred being with Edward than him. That my visits had transformed from duty to want. That I enjoyed spending time with him, and, by default, you.

When I arrived, Edward was in the lounge, sat in his creased, faded dark blue and red paisley pyjamas. The top button missing, his grey chest hairs searching through the gap. His crumpled red spotted hanky hanging from the loose breast pocket.

‘You got dressed for bed early.’

‘What? Oh . . . oh yes. I did, yes.’ He couldn’t look me in the eye. ‘I think I’d like to go to bed now, Constance.’

‘I need to make you something to eat first.’

‘I’ve already eaten.’ Again he avoided my gaze. I recognized that lack of eye contact. What it meant.

‘You need to eat something, Edward.’

‘I’ll see myself to bed, then.’ He pushed himself up, the effort extracting all breath from his lungs.

‘Here . . . put your arm around me.’ I bent down to offer myself to him.

‘Stop fussing, for Christ’s sake. Stop trying to make me infirm.’ His face flushed at the embarrassment of his raised voice. I straightened myself and watched him in silence. He managed to stand. Remaining still for a moment, as if to wait for his blood to once again navigate his veins. ‘Well, thanks for popping in, Constance.’

‘I’ll stay . . . make sure you’re settled.’ I was addressing his curved back, shuffling out of the room.

When I could no longer see him, I dropped into my chair. For once not thinking of you, but listening to his huffs and puffs as he made it into bed. Sounds she’d make. Weak, fragile. Master of trickery with her smiling and ‘I’m fine’s.

And I didn’t like it. How it made me feel. What it brought back. I needed something to counteract it.