He didn’t follow me. Something that still surprises me to this day. Though, as I closed the front door to the words ‘You can’t go . . . What am I going to do? What will I tell them?’ I realized his remorse was for him, not me.

Exiting High Street …

Exiting High Street Kensington Station, I battled the heavy snow.

Numb-fingered, raw-legged and knickerless, my boots crunched into the inch-deep snow. Everywhere was Christmas-card perfect. Twinkling lights entwined in trees, strung between buildings, glittering window displays, shops open late to accommodate the frantic present-buying, the homeless man freezing outside an estate agent.

Now penniless, I poured some of the Vladimir that I’d bought before boarding the Tube into the man’s empty paper cup, then stopped for a lengthy swig myself. The harshness stung my gums. Scalded my throat. But after the initial pain subsided, it warmed my organs one by one.

For my next vodka pause before turning into the side streets, I pulled into the doorway of a closed posh frock shop called Rags (rich people are so hilarious) and phoned Edward to warn him of my impending visit, so as not to give him a heart attack by turning up so late. A drunk vampire with a bloodstained chin.

It rang out.

I lit a fag, swigged more booze and called you. If ever there was a legitimate excuse to call you, turn to you, this was it. I’d be calm in your arms. Your bed. After you’d told me I deserved better, that you’d been so jealous but didn’t know how to tell me, and now you could.

It rang out.

As I walked, inhaling smoke, the freezing air electrocuted the nerves of my tooth, which wobbled back and forth inside the cushion of swollen lip. I threw away the cigarette, breathed only through my nose and carried on.

I was on your road. Your car wasn’t there. Snow lay in its place. I looked up to Edward’s. The light was on in the lounge and I was thankful I wouldn’t be waking him.

The warmth of the foyer hit me as I shook my body free of the transparent flakes. Watching them disappear into the brown, wiry mat, jealous of their invisibility.

Climbing the stairs, I concocted my story. We split up. I left, upset, and slipped in the snow, falling on my face. I was unsure who I was protecting: Edward, Dale or myself. But for whatever reason, the truth seemed too hard to tell. As it often is.

At the top, I bent forward out of breath. The rapidity of my pumping blood made my tooth pulse. I touched it. Red smeared my finger. All I needed was rest. That was all. To have more drink and sleep everything off. Wake to a brighter day.

As soon as my key opened the lock, I announced myself so as not to frighten him.