But your words were futile. You were already kissing me. Your fingers frantic, searching beneath my skirt. Myself, so relieved, content, that I’d successfully changed your mind.

Sat on your desk, skirt ruched around my waist, bra undone, I watched you hoist up your trousers, button your shirt. After you came, you hadn’t kissed me as usual but reached for the patients’ tissues and dried yourself off in silence.

You stared at the scattered manila files, escaped documents and a now-open box of paper clips on the floor. ‘We need to clear this up.’

Squatting, you collected the clips with your right hand, dropping them into the cupped palm of your left. You didn’t look at me. Not as I slid off the desk, pulling down my skirt. Not as I removed the knickers from my pocket and sheepishly put them on. Not as I fastened my bra before kneeling to help you.

‘That shouldn’t have happened.’ You finally looked at me as you poured the clips from your hand into the box. ‘Do your blouse up, will you.’

Standing, I fastened the buttons as requested, though my fingers were fumbling and uncooperative. ‘We could pick up a curry or something? Get some wine?’

Your lips curled and your eyes squinted. ‘What are you talking about? I’ve told you, I’m going out tonight.’ You stood too. Threw the box onto the desk. There was the sound of tinkling metal as several paper clips ricocheted back out. You bent down again, the redness of your cheeks travelling south towards your neck, and you began gathering up papers.

I copied you. My eyes flitting upwards towards your face. ‘I . . . I know you did . . . Sorry. Is that Mr Parker’s file? This belongs with that.’

You snatched the letter from my hand, causing a paper cut to my finger, which I sucked to stop the sting.

‘I’m not doing this, Constance. Having you make a massive issue because I want to go out one night with a friend.’

‘I . . . I’m not. I—’

‘Look at the bloody mess. We shouldn’t have done that.’

‘It’s OK. No one else is here. No one will know.’

I attempted to hug you, but you turned and threw the file onto the desk. ‘But I know, for fuck’s sake.’ Newly replaced pages flew out with the force. A sheet floated back to the floor. You didn’t retrieve it. Just dropped into your chair, which rolled backwards with the motion, and covered your face with your hands.

I didn’t know what to do. How to stop you worrying. All I could think was to gather the remaining evidence from the floor.

Then do you remember? How you changed so suddenly. At least, I thought you had.

‘I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry, Constance. Come here.’

I followed instruction. Allowed you to pull me onto your knee, alleviating my concerns.