‘I wouldn’t permit the bloody man from Sainsbury’s to be in my flat either. And for goodness’ sake, just get off the phone and get better.’

The rattle in his voice perturbed me, but before I could say anything or request that he cover for me should Dale ask about me falling asleep, I was halted by the dialling tone. I rang again. No answer. I imagined him presuming I’d taken his advice, oblivious to the defunct phone perched on his chair.

I remained in bed. Sore, lifeless, as the virus radiated through my body. Concentrating in my chest. So much so that for the first time since I was fifteen, I couldn’t inhale the cigarette I’d foolishly lit.

I slipped, feverishly, fluidly, in and out of sleep. A carousel of thoughts. You and Laura. Dale meeting Edward. You and Laura. Dale meeting Edward. Round and round and round.

‘How are you feeling?’

Confused, I pushed myself up. It was dark outside. My lamp was switched on and Dale was standing next to the bed, bags of shopping in his hands.

‘Sorry. I should’ve let you sleep.’

‘What time is it?’ I said, my hand scrambling around the bed in search of my phone.

‘Nearly six thirty. You were fast asleep. Anyway, I dropped the stuff at Edward’s.’

To prevent him detecting the fear in my face, I continued looking for the phone even though I could see where it was. ‘Oh . . . oh good. How was he?’

‘He seemed OK . . . but, Constance, his flat is off the scale. That diving helmet is fucking awesome.’ As he excitedly talked about how Edward had worn it when he’d supposedly been a deep-sea diver, my body relaxed.

My sins were still my own.

I was back in work on the Friday. I had to, you see.

Phlegm-throated, husky-voiced, weak on standing, yet determined.

Dale was too busy with his morning routine to notice my waxen complexion and ice-pick breaths. I must admit his lack of caring was disappointing.

I was so monstrous in appearance that even Linda was uncharacteristically pleasant to me. Not for my benefit but because she’d been so embarrassingly unsympathetic when I’d called in sick.

‘You shouldn’t have come in, Constance.’

‘Well, I wasn’t sure if you believed me, Linda, and I didn’t want to let you down.’ I coughed until I heaved behind the reception desk and she ran to the kitchen for water.

Admittedly, I enjoyed her squirming. Thinking it was her doing. My suffering. When really it was yours.