I nodded.

‘You’re shaking.’ You pressed my sole/soul, then with both hands began rubbing, gently, in opposite directions. ‘Your foot’s freezing. It’s fine, though. You were running on the bruising, so it’s going to hurt, but no actual damage has been done.’ You released it and placed it down on the floor. It pulsated with new warmth. ‘I’ll get you another tea,’ you said, collecting both our cups.

Once you’d left, I sat for a moment, awkward. Then to distract myself, I crossed the room to investigate your CDs. Ella Fitzgerald, Jeff Buckley, Johnny Cash, Aretha Franklin, Chopin . . . The list was endless, the collection enormous. Aside from the latter, I smiled at our common ground.

‘Choose something if you want.’

I jumped.

‘Sorry. I always seem to be scaring you . . . Only if you want to, of course.’

‘No, I . . . I was just surprised, that’s all . . . You’ve got a lot of CDs.’ I limped back over to the sofa and picked up my shoes.

‘Why don’t you leave them off? Relax, sit down. I think you’re still in shock. Here, I thought this might help more than tea.’

I sank into the sofa as you handed me a wine glass and poured into it a burnt-amber liqueur from the bottle you carried. I sniffed the contents. The potency snatched my breath and made me cough.

‘It’s a good brandy, that. It’ll relax you, warm you up. Sorry, I’m a heathen and don’t have the correct glassware.’ You smiled, as if you remembered that the person who lived in a house with a sink in the garden wouldn’t care about such things.

I allowed it to wash across my lips, then licked them. ‘It’s very strong,’ I said through a wheeze.

‘Have a few sips. It works, I promise . . . Look.’ You swirled the heavy liquid, which clung to each part of the glass it touched, then took a large gulp before blowing imaginary fire from your mouth. ‘See . . . relaxed.’ You pulled a silly face like you were entertaining a child.

I copied, feeling you watch me. ‘It’s still so strong.’ It almost stole my voice, but I enjoyed the burn as its warmth enveloped me.

‘It’s just normal brandy. I promise. Keep taking tiny amounts . . . You’ll feel better soon. Shall I pick something, then?’ You were at the shelves, glass in hand, your finger tracing a line along the CD spines. ‘I bought the majority before the whole download thing . . . but there’s nothing like having something physical, don’t you think . . . something to hold?’

Your fingers stopped. You turned to me and smiled, then faced the shelves once more, removing a disc that I couldn’t see, then placing it in the player. ‘I reckon you’re a Blondie girl, hey?’

Before I could say anything, I’d identified the intro to ‘Heart of Glass’.