‘Bea, I know you’re there. At least I hope you’re there, otherwise this is very odd.’ I hear a shuffle. I imagine him with his ear against the door, listening for signs of life. ‘You don’t have to open the door, but I wanted you to know that I’ll be here for ten minutes, and if you want to let me in at any point during this time, you can. And if you do, I’ll share my spring rolls with you.’ I can hear the shuffle of a plastic bag so I know he’s telling the truth.

But I hate sharing spring rolls. They always come in uneven numbers, making it so awkward.

‘OK, I lie. I actually bought two lots of spring rolls so we can each have our own.’

Seven minutes have passed and I open up to let him in. Peter is sitting with his back to the door, making this tricky. He smiles up at me and then crawls across the floor before eventually unfolding to a standing position.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

He looks across my shoulder. ‘What jigsaw are we doing?’

He puts the food on the side as he heads to the table. I rip the bag and start opening up the flimsy plastic takeaway boxes before putting the spring rolls on plates, choosing to use the posh guest china that my mum insisted I buy. By the time I reach him, he already has his puzzle face in place. A face that looks both intense and also at peace.

‘Did I miss much today?’

‘At Games Night?’

I nod.

‘No.’ He bites into a spring roll. Evidently it’s still hot; he pulls a face and breathes as if he’s giving birth. ‘Actually yes. Sophie’s pregnant.’ The spring rolls are clairvoyant.

Sophie lived down the corridor from Mia at uni. She has very fine features and married a very handsome man. I imagine their babies are going to be very attractive.

‘Mia was asking after you.’

I try to act casual.

‘She was?’

He nods. ‘She was. She seemed, er, tetchy today.’ He takes another bite. ‘Unusually on edge. I almost felt a bit sorry for Mark. Poor guy couldn’t do anything right.’

I don’t know what to say, so I remain silent.

‘So –’ he draws the word out – ‘what did she say to you? Do I need to go beat her up? Because I would do that for you.’

I smile. Peter would definitely come off worse. Eventually I say the only thing I can – the truth. ‘Nothing I didn’t need to hear.’

There is silence for a while.

‘Well,’ he says, licking his fingers, ‘I’m sure Mark would appreciate it if you called her.’

‘I will.’ But not quite yet. When I go back to her I want to have made some progress, or at least come up with a plan.

It occurs to me that finger food and jigsaws don’t really mix, so I get up, head over to the sink and tear off some kitchen towel. I wander back and pass a piece to Peter, who nods a silent thank-you.