‘What would you know, dear? It’s many years since I’ve bitten you.’

We all shake hands and I am shown into the living room. Michael’s flat is the same basic layout as mine, but looks tiny in comparison, it’s so full of furniture and books and pictures and what Jonathan would call ‘knick-knackery’.

I sit down on a sofa that’s covered in that sort of tapestry material, with big flowers on a grey background that might once have been white or cream. There are crocheted covers on the arms, probably to cover holes. Every surface has something on it – framed photographs, model aeroplanes, tacky souvenirs of foreign holidays including – I can hardly believe my eyes – a Spanish lady flamenco dancer doll, complete with tiny castanets. The walls are painted a muted pinky brown colour, like liver, and the light fittings are made of brass.

‘I’m sorry I’ve not asked you down for a drink before, to welcome you to the block,’ says Michael, ‘but I’ve been unusually busy. You see, we buried my partner today.’

‘Ah,’ I say.

‘He died a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Yes, I …’ I suddenly remember Jonathan wolf-whistling the ambulance man, so I stop in mid-sentence.

‘It takes so long to get things sorted out these days. I’d much rather have got him planted the next day, to be honest, but there seems to be so much paperwork involved.’

‘It was a lovely service,’ says Stephen, who’s perched on an arm of the sofa and is leaning rather too much towards me. ‘Nice music. Lovely readings.’ He brushes away a tear. ‘Sorry, here I go again.’

‘She’s been like Vicki Carr all day with the crying,’ says Michael, and then stops short. ‘Sorry. I mean he.’

‘It’s all right, Mickey,’ says Stephen. ‘I think he understands.’

There’s a silence, during which I think I’m meant to make a declaration, but I don’t know what to say.

‘You are, aren’t you, dear?’ says Stephen, touching me lightly on the shoulder. ‘I mean, you’re not one of them that just looks the part.’

‘No,’ I say, ‘I’m … one.’

‘There,’ says Stephen, pointing at Michael, ‘I told you. God takes away with one hand, but gives with the other.’

I finish my drink. ‘It’s been lovely meeting you,’ I say, getting to my feet, ‘but I really must go to bed. I’ve got an early start in the morning.’

‘Of course, of course!’ says Michael. ‘It’s very kind of you to pop in. I do appreciate it, and it’s nice to know that there’s someone friendly in the block.’

I’m about to leave, but I can see Stephen looking daggers at me.

‘I’m very sorry about your partner,’ I say. ‘Had you … er … been together long?’

Michael and Stephen look at each other, and burst out laughing.

‘Yes, I suppose you could say that, Robert. If you think forty-eight years is a long time.’

I can still hear them laughing when I turn the key in my front door.