My elation only momentarily stained at lunch, when on my way to Edward’s, I rang to warn him of my arrival and the phone rang out. It was presumably uncharged, but I endured stabs of fear until I arrived to find him snoring in his chair, oblivious to my presence. Even under the circumstances, I couldn’t help but smile when I saw him dappered up in a pinstriped suit, shirt and tie. On his head, a fancy-dress gold crown encrusted with plastic rubies.

‘Edward . . . it’s me . . . Wake up.’

With a grunt, he jolted awake, his headwear slipping to a jaunty angle. ‘Oh, bloody hell, are you trying to give me a heart attack?’

‘Sorry . . . I—’

‘No, no . . . it’s me that’s sorry,’ he said, feeling his head, remembering why he was wearing a crown. ‘Happy birthday, darling girl.’

‘Thank you. I’ve got cake. I’ll make us some tea.’

‘Here, put this on first . . . It’s just to wear for lunch, mind. It doesn’t leave the flat.’ He handed me an exquisite glittering tiara. Speechless, I placed it on my head. ‘It was my mother’s. Given to her by an Indian prince. A fan.’ And I heard myself gasp when he said, ‘They’re real diamonds.’

I returned, feeling half-royalty, half-servant. Jewels in hair, tray in hand. The sponge lit with a lone candle. Edward sang ‘Happy Birthday’, breathless and weak. I joined in, giggling and tuneless. At the end he told me to make a wish, so I closed my eyes, blew and wished for you.

As I served up, he rose with difficulty. ‘What is it you want, Edward? I’ll get it.’

‘You mind your own. And don’t be stingy with the slice . . . What the hell is that? I want a piece not a wafer.’

He returned from the cabinet carrying a book-shaped item, wrapped in newspaper. ‘Here,’ he said, dropping it to the table.

‘Is that for me?’

‘No, it’s for bloody Ursula. Of course it’s for you.’

I handed him his tea and cake. ‘Well, you shouldn’t have got me anything.’

‘Don’t worry – I didn’t.’

After shoving cake in my mouth and slurping tea, I tore off the makeshift wrapping to reveal a faded blue hardback copy of Wuthering Heights. I hugged it to my chest. ‘That’s brilliant. Thank you, Edward.’

‘Look inside . . . I haven’t got you a card but look inside.’

I flipped the front cover open.

Happy birthday to my best friend. Thank you for saving me, Constance. Love, Edward.

‘Thank you, Edward. It’s . . . I love it.’ I looked at him, freeing his chin of jam and suppressing a cough with a sip of tea, and I had the overwhelming feeling that I’d wished for the wrong thing.