I couldn’t see Dale. He was behind the door, putting stuff away in the fridge. But I could hear the persistent crinkle of plastic bags.

‘They only had margherita, though, so I bought mushrooms separately for us to add.’

‘Perfect,’ I said against the sound of the fridge sealing shut.

‘How soon do you want to eat?’ He pulled the door back to show himself. Dripping wet. Wearing a navy anorak. Pushing a large hood from his head.

I rocked back …

I rocked back onto my heels as his icy lips kissed mine.

‘Are you OK?’ he said.

‘Yes . . . yes, I’m fine. You’re soaked. We could’ve had something else to eat. Saved you going out.’

‘There wasn’t anything.’ He unzipped the anorak. Particles of water flicked onto the floor.

‘Is that new? I’ve never seen you in it before.’

‘Kind of – someone left it at work ages ago, and it was pissing down, so . . .’

‘Oh right . . . Well, it looks good.’

He removed it and placed it on a kitchen chair. Ruffling his hair back to life. ‘Don’t you fancy pizza?’

‘Yes . . . yes, pizza sounds great . . . I’m just going to put some clothes on.’

He came closer. ‘Please don’t.’ His cold, damp hands circled my waist and pulled me towards him.

‘Dale . . . you’re making me all wet.’

‘Already? Blimey.’

‘Dale, I’m serious. Please . . .’ I pressed his hands away.

He remained in front of me. Dropped his head for a moment, then returned to look directly into my eyes. ‘Sure,’ he said, repositioning an unruly strand of my hair to behind my ear. ‘It’ll be ready in about fifteen.’

I barely saw you the following morning. The one time I brought you a tea, my coldness must have been apparent.

‘Are you OK, Constance? You’re very quiet today.’

‘Am I? I really don’t think I am,’ I said, and left, stony-faced.

You were then on house calls for the afternoon, and I was thankful it was a Friday and I’d have a couple of days’ break from seeing you.

Although, the whole weekend I was barely present. Thoughts of you and her, whoever she was, tortured me, along with a nagging feeling about Dale and the anorak. To the point where I felt unable to be around him and feigned a migraine as an excuse to migrate to my own room. But after a cold, rainy trip into Ealing on the Sunday, where everyone seemed to be wearing dark hooded anoraks, I realized I was being paranoid. And if I was being paranoid about Dale, then I was probably being paranoid about you.