She thinks it’s a stupid, sentimental gesture – especially stupid because his precious back ‘goes’ more and more often these days, and because the flat is on the third floor of a tall building with no lift. She understands, though, that having accepted the flat, she also has to accept his indulgent, demonstrative kindness.

She hopes that he’ll leave her in peace once they’ve finished lugging her stuff from the car, but instead he produces a bottle of expensive-looking champagne and starts rooting around in her packing boxes, hunting for glasses.

‘I’ll do that – I know where things are—’

He stands up and stretches, palms pressed to his lower back like a pregnant woman. Then he picks up the champagne and nicks the foil with a well-practised thumbnail.

‘Sorry, it’s probably a bit warmish,’ he says as he eases the cork from the bottle. ‘But I thought we should christen this place with some bubbles.’

Irritated, she holds out two mugs.

‘To you,’ he says, bringing his mug (Keep Calm And Play Piano) to touch hers. ‘To your first house. Oh, and to your … your qualification. What is it again exactly, a diploma?’

‘Yes, a diploma. You don’t have to do that, I know what you think.’

‘Come on, darling, that’s hardly fair. It’s just … I didn’t know much about what music therapy, ah, involved before. Your mother and I both think it’s fantastic. We’re very proud of you.’

‘Mmmm.’

* * *

He is plaiting her hair: a complex, many-stranded confection inspired by a character from a programme they discovered two weeks ago. They are already halfway through the third series. They take their television very seriously these days.

When he’s finished he stays sitting behind her, rubbing her back and shoulders.

‘Did you think about my suggestion?’ he asks gently.

‘Yes,’ she says, just as gently. They are always gentle with each other. ‘I did think. And I think – I think I’d rather stay here.’

He nods even though she can’t see him. ‘I thought you would.’

There is a long pause.

‘I will miss you,’ she says eventually.

‘You too, hen. We’ve had a good run, haven’t we?’

In bed that night he lies behind her, passing his lips lightly over the nubbles of the plaits. He thinks she’s asleep but then suddenly she speaks.

‘Did you hear from your mother today?’

He shifts onto his back.

‘Yeah. She was too blissed out on the morphine to make much sense. She knew who I was, though, and she understands I’m coming home. So that’s something. The doctor’s confirmed that she’s diabetic. Apparently they don’t want to operate yet. Best option is to try and get her dry, then pray that the enzyme supplements start to kick in. But I know my mam. She won’t stop drinking.’

‘I’m so sorry. Oh god. That’s horrible.’ She sounds distressed.