‘Cup of tea?’ he asks, getting up from where he’s been planted in the living room for the past few hours with scripts and his laptop. Evie doesn’t look up from her spot in the sunroom, which, in the two months he’s been in Utah, has unofficially become her workspace when she’s over. She’s in there, listening to Cleo Wade and Bach, her little dog Doctor Dolittle at her feet, and he’s in the other room, taking calls and making plans, and they work, they chat, they make love, they take walks … they say goodbye for a few nights when she goes back to her place and then do it all again.

‘Coffee,’ she hollers back, not looking up from her computer. ‘Double shot, please.’

Duke busies himself pulling out mugs and teabags and putting a capsule in the coffee machine, locating the milk. It’s not his house. It’s rented. Over Christmas, when he stayed with her, she’d floated the idea of him sticking around for a bit, in between awards shows and visiting his mum back in Sunderland, before he’s due on set in Brazil for a month at Easter – his last movie for a while, he’s told his agent. When Evie asked, he said he’d like that – but that in the spirit of unfurling he’d stay nearby, not with her, to take the pressure off. It’s going so well that he’s just asked her if she wants to come with him to Rio. She said she’d like that, too, since it turns out a little travel is actually quite fun. It’s give and take, and they’re both practising the roles. Duke finds it easier to give love than receive it, and Evie says she finds the same. Together they’re helping each other to be loved. It’s not a bad endeavour.

Duke’s phone rings. He holds it in one hand as he delivers Evie’s double-shot, extra-foamy soy latte with the other, and she looks up at him, smiling gratefully. They look at each other, a beat suspended in time, as if surprised by the continued presence of the other. Doctor Dolittle stirs at her feet, and they break eye contact so she can bend over and ruffle his head. He watches the lean muscle of her neck ripple and enjoys the sing-song of her giggle as the dog leaps up to lick her face.

‘Silly boy,’ he hears her say into the dog’s fur.

‘Daphne,’ Duke says, as he answers the call, still taking in the sight of his girlfriend. ‘What do you think?’