And so we sat in my favourite Chinese restaurant, Mel alternating between Facebook, Instagram and Twitter on her iPhone and me trying to pretend this was a normal Saturday evening out – some chat, some wine, nice food, a bit of time for just the two of us. Me talking constantly so that I didn’t have to think too much about Mel’s Mistake At The Wedding, or the secret she’d kept until today, or Ben bloody Delaney. And because I couldn’t have coped with silence between us, not tonight. So I really didn’t mind that Mel seemed distracted, agitated, and wasn’t listening to my anecdote from the school’s Outward Bound week with Year Nine. Her finger scrolled up the newsfeed, then she would stop, read, move on, type briefly, then go back to the main feed. I was in no hurry to go on Facebook again.

I continued our rather one-sided conversation.

‘So it was me and Paul and Martin sharing a room, right? Everybody shares. And on the first night I wake up at 3 a.m. and Martin is snoring like you wouldn’t believe. It’s like trying to sleep on the hard shoulder of the M25. Unreal. So I start saying to him, ‘Martin, Martin, turn over! You’re snoring! Turn over!’ And what do you think he does?’

I waited, but she didn’t respond.

‘Absolutely nothing,’ I continued. ‘He’s oblivious. This goes on for another two hours, until finally he turns over, only by then I’m too wound up to get back to sleep. Next morning he’s up, fresh as a daisy, I feel like death, and do you know what he says to me?’

Again, she didn’t respond, absorbed in Facebook. She had stopped scrolling and appeared to be studying something in particular.

‘He said: “Joe, mate, has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep?” And I was like: “I wasn’t asleep!” Paul thought it was hilarious.’

I paused, waiting for a reaction. A response. Anything. She continued to scroll up her Facebook newsfeed, giving no indication that she’d heard a word I’d said.

I wondered, briefly, how we had got to this point.

‘And then,’ I said, studying her face, ‘the top of Martin’s head cracked open and an alien climbed out.’

Mel nodded slightly, a piece of Peking duck poised in the chopsticks an inch from her lips as she scrolled up the screen.

‘Yeah?’

‘And then the alien sang “Bohemian Rhapsody” in E-flat major.’

She smiled and held up her phone to me.

‘Look at this. It’s from Ben – seems like he’s all right.’

It was a post on Facebook.

Ben Delaney – 1 hour ago

Needed to get my head sorted; it’s been good to get away. And I’ve always loved it when everything starts falling into place.

‘The truth of the battle is whatever the victor deems it to be . . .’

‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘Beth will be so relieved, you should let her know. And that policeman. Did you look at the comments?’