‘No . . . No. What are you talking about? It’s your birthday. We’re having fun. I just made you dinner, so you can’t leave – you’ve got to do the washing-up.’ He came over to me and pulled me by the arm. ‘Come here . . . Come and sit with me. Have some wine.’

His fingers gripped harder as he led me over to the chair and pressed me down. Before sitting himself, he poured us both a glass.

‘Happy birthday.’ He lifted his glass and brought it towards me to clink.

I tentatively raised mine to meet his. After a huge gulp he caught sight of the DVD. ‘Extreme Fishing? Interesting choice.’

‘I . . . I must have picked—’

‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ He was opening the velvet box. Removed the ring. Pinched it between his fingertips before holding it up to the candle’s flame.

‘Yes.’

‘You should put it on.’

‘I don’t want to, Dale.’

‘Please.’ His voice flattened. My heart accelerated.

He took hold of my hand, pushed up my sleeve. ‘What did you do to your arm?’

‘I burned it, at work.’

‘On what?’

‘Coffee . . . I’d made a coffee and it spilt on my arm.’

‘You didn’t tell me. You don’t tell me anything, do you?’

Heat overwhelmed me and I tugged the neck of my sweatshirt to allow air to flow down my chest. ‘I . . . I do. I tell you everything.’

He smiled and encased his fingers around my wrist. ‘Who bandaged it for you?’

I didn’t move. I knew how much it would hurt.

‘I did.’

‘Not a doctor?’ The candle sparked and I turned instinctively, causing his fingers to press against my wound.

‘No . . . No one did it. I did it myself. I can show you the stuff.’

‘OK.’ He took hold of my hand, stroked my finger before slipping on the ring.

‘Please don’t,’ I said, but he continued. Pushing it, hard, over my knuckle. Snagging my skin. Eventually it sat at the base, tight like a tourniquet.

‘It looks pretty on you. Fits as well. Hold it up . . . Have a look.’

My hand protested. White skin bulged beyond the band. ‘It’s too tight. It’s hurting,’ I said, trying to pull it off.

‘Leave it . . . Just sit with it for a while.’

‘I can’t.’ The chair screeched as I stood and headed to the sink. Ran my hand under the cold tap. Hoping to reduce the swelling, the throb.

‘Nothing I do is right, is it?’

I splashed water on the back of my neck to control the burn spreading over me.

‘Is it, Constance? I’m just a joke to you. To you, Anna . . . all of you.’

‘Anna . . . Is Anna the girl who lived here before? Did you . . . Were you together?’

‘No, Constance . . . not together. No, you lot don’t want the nice guys, do you? It’s all about looks and money. Men like me never have a chance.’