I’d told Dale that I’d fallen asleep at Edward’s. He bought it. At least, at first. Unable not to, as I stood in his room shivering, barely able to speak. But later, after I’d slept, my dreams repetitive, long, stretched like elastic – appearances made by you, Laura, Mum, other people I’d forgotten existed – I woke, dripping wet, my heart trying to escape my chest.

Dale was sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I was worried . . . You haven’t shut up the whole time.’

After pulling myself up, I switched on the lamp and checked my phone. It was coming up to 2 a.m. Gulping some much-needed water, I noticed my throat had eased marginally. Excess liquid cascaded down my chin, but I welcomed the cold against my skin. ‘What was I saying?’

‘Just ramblings. Who’s Laura?’ He watched me for an answer and I shrugged. ‘Anyway, you feeling any better?’

‘I’m not sure.’ I swiped my hand across my upper chest and behind my neck, then squeezed the duvet to rid the sweat I’d collected.

Dale offered me a towel he’d picked up from the floor. ‘You should take your pyjamas off too. They’re all wet.’ He gently pulled me forward. ‘Lift your arms.’

I complied as he reached down my back for the fleecy edge and pulled the top up over my head. I felt awkward, exposed, yet happy to be free of clothes. I inched up the duvet to conceal myself.

‘Lie down.’

Again I did as I was told. He threw the covers off me and I stiffened as he tucked his fingers into the waistband of the bottoms, pulling them down, removing my knickers at the same time. I lifted myself to help. But didn’t want to. I sensed him watching my body. On full display. Sticky and rancid.

‘Where were you really last night?’ he said.

I tensed further. My eyes fixating on the swirled Artex above. ‘What do you mean? I’ve told you.’

‘You fell asleep at Edward’s?’

‘Yes.’

He screwed the bottoms into a ball and threw them onto the pile of dirty clothes spilling out of my washing basket in the corner. ‘OK.’ He held up the towel. ‘I’ll go and wet this.’

Once he’d left, my limbs relaxed, but it wasn’t long before he was back, the towel now heavy with water. Drips falling to the carpet.

‘Here.’ Beginning with my neck, he smoothed the freezing cloth over me.

‘It’s too cold, Dale.’

‘It’ll reduce your fever.’ He wiped it over my chest, under each breast.

I was a statue. A ceiling-gazer.

‘It doesn’t make sense, Constance . . . doesn’t add up.’

‘What doesn’t?’

‘Last night . . . you were about to make him a sandwich, then – what, you suddenly just fell asleep?’

‘Yes . . . I really don’t feel well, Dale—’