For the remainder of the day I could concentrate on nothing else. My insides were a tumble-dryer of varied emotions. None of them good. My mind full of questions. Who was she? What did she want to talk to you about?

I couldn’t even face following you home after work. Knowing I’d despise being behind you, jaunty and upbeat. So I left dead on five without even a pause for a fag and strode determinedly to see Edward.

He was in bed when I arrived. Pale. His lips tinged lilac. ‘You look awful. I thought the doctor was coming today?’

‘Charming. You don’t look so marvellous yourself.’ He smoothed the blanket, unable to look me in the eye.

‘Edward, the doctor?’

‘He said I was fine.’

He leant over for his Shackleton biography, which perched on the old brass carriage clock on the bedside table, and as he spent all his energy dragging it over to his chest, his reading glasses fell to the floor. I picked them up.

‘You didn’t let him in, did you?’

‘Shackleton was going to be a doctor – did you know that? But he joined the navy instead.’

‘I don’t give a shit about Shackleton.’

‘Well, you should . . . That’s the trouble with your generation—’

‘For fuck’s sake, Edward, the doctor?’

He reached over, snatching the glasses from my grip. ‘I don’t need to see a doctor . . . I’m absolutely fine.’

My hands reached for the top of my head and I paced the only clutter-free area in the room. ‘Oh my God . . . you promised. You promised Maxine.’

‘The only thing that’s making me ill is your interrogation. And as for Maxine . . . it turns out she’s highly irritating.’

And suddenly I was swathed in that feeling. The fear of him leaving me. Loathing the selfishness. Of him not caring if he did.

‘I can’t do this,’ I said, and left to put his shepherd’s pie in the oven.

I remained in the lounge while his dinner cooked.

When I lifted the window to smoke, I turned my body inwards to face the room, not you. Extending my arm outside into the harsh, dark air. Focusing on Ursula, wishing I could be as calm and cold as I flitted between anger at you, Edward, Mum. But my will was weak and I glanced towards you for a split second. You were laughing at something on the TV. My rage intensified and I slammed the window shut.

I hovered next to the bed as Edward pushed food around the plate. ‘It’s not as good as the Sainsbury’s one.’

‘It is the Sainsbury’s one. Let me get you something else, then—’

‘No . . . no . . . I had a big lunch, that’s all.’

I perched on the chair, watching as he laboriously carried forkfuls of mince towards his lips. His crooked hand tremored so violently only tiny amounts made it into his mouth.