Inside, the place was much quieter than the previous time. Like a different pub. It was still early doors and the Friday-night shenanigans had not yet begun. I opted for a battered leather sofa in a purposely chosen cosy alcove, as you ordered our drinks from the lone barman reluctantly slicing lemons. I watched your every movement. The exaggerated dip into your pocket for money, your attempts to straighten out your hair.

Then I remembered Edward. He was expecting me, and I hadn’t turned up. I mimed with my finger that I would just be a minute and went outside to call.

‘Hey, I’m so sorry, but I’ve had to meet a friend who was upset about something. Are you OK? Have you got stuff in to eat?’

‘Don’t you be worrying about me. Go see to your friend, darling girl.’

The guilt made me light a fag. ‘Are you OK, though? You sound a bit shit? The phone’s beeping again – make sure you put it on charge.’

‘I’m fine. A nurse came today . . . Maxine. Wonderful, she is . . . She’s an artist as well as a nurse. We had a lovely chat about Klimt.’

‘Oh . . . oh, OK.’

‘She’s going to come regularly now. To check on me.’

‘Oh . . . OK. Well, that’s good . . . I already check on you, though.’

I waited for him to reply but realized the line was dead and I’d been talking to myself.

You were sat at the table in front of two large glasses of brandy, not the Coke I’d requested. Noticing my confused frown, you said, ‘I know, I know, but I thought you needed warming up.’

Was it all part of the plan? To infiltrate my mind with memories of our first time. My body with alcohol.

‘So, what was it you wanted to talk about?’

You laughed and stared into your glass, swirling it repeatedly. ‘Blimey, can’t wait to go, eh?’

You have no idea how much I wanted to be strong. Say I had somewhere to be. ‘No, no, not at all.’

You sighed, returned your glass to the table, remained with your head down, distressed. I was unsure what to do. Like I was with Dad that day. I know what I wanted to do. My hand hovered behind your head, wanting to touch you.

‘What’s up?’

‘It’s nothing. I . . . It’s just . . .’ You looked back at me, desperate. My stomach lurched at the fear you’d confront me after all. You breathed out, long and slow. ‘There was a woman. Way before . . . you know . . . before us, I mean.’

I sipped my brandy. Suppressed both the surge of happiness at your use of the term ‘us’ and the anger at the lie you’d just told.

‘It was a one-off thing. I . . . I didn’t even fancy her . . . She was just there.’

I was just there too, Samuel. I was there. ‘Where?’

‘What do you mean?’