It felt like an eternity as I clumsily made my way down the front path on the crutches. When I finally reached the door, I scrambled in my bag for the key. Before I’d located it, Dale was standing in the light of the open doorway. I turned towards you, but you were back in the car.

‘You poor sod. Here, let me help you.’ He fussed around me, making everything more difficult. ‘Don’t you worry – I shall be your nurse slave. Hey, I’ve bought the new Call of Duty for us, so you won’t be bored being laid up.’ As he shut the door, I felt our severance. ‘That wasn’t Dr Harris. You said Dr Harris was with you.’ He lifted my bag over my head.

‘Did I? I don’t think I . . . I was in agony, Dale. Sorry . . . I meant Dr Stevens.’

‘Well, it’s easily done,’ he said, smiling, but as he turned away, I noticed his grin drop in the hall mirror.

My weekend consisted …

My weekend consisted mainly of killing.

Dale’s mandatory Call of Duty marathon was only made bearable by the serene haze produced by codeine and paracetamol, plus the constant stream of tea and snacks he brought me.

But by Sunday afternoon I’d had enough. Putting down my metaphorical foot by pretending I had a migraine, which I’d timed for the start of a Marple I hadn’t yet seen.

He did turn off the PlayStation, but he also insisted I needed to lie down in dark quietness, meaning I never got to watch the Marple after all. But that wasn’t the worst thing. That came once I’d settled in bed with the lights out.

He appeared, a silhouette in the doorway. ‘I’ve got something for your foot – some arnica. It’s great for bruising.’ Before I could object, he’d walked in. The light folded away as the door closed. I could feel him sat on the edge of the bed. ‘It’ll bring it out quicker.’ He pulled the duvet aside and took hold of my ankle.

I reached up to put the lamp on.

‘No, don’t do that. It’s not good for your head.’

I slid back down.

‘I wasn’t told to put anything on it, though, Dale.’

‘Just relax and close your eyes. It really works. Mum used it on us all the time as kids when we fell over.’

I did close my eyes, but I wasn’t relaxed at all. I heard the ointment spurt from the tube. His cold, gel-coated hands slowly caressed my foot.

‘How does that feel?’

‘Sore. It’s sore to touch, Dale . . . I think it’s best if you leave it.’

‘But it’ll help all the—’

‘Please.’

He stopped. Nothing happened for some time. Black silence, broken eventually by the sound of the top being screwed back on.

‘Thank you, though.’