‘No, really, that’s fine, I’ve got loads of room.’ Looking around, I notice for the first time that pictures have been taken off the wall, ornaments removed from shelves. ‘You’re not moving,’ I say.

‘I’m afraid I am.’

This upsets me for some reason, and I feel quite wounded. ‘You never mentioned it.’

‘Well, it’s all happened rather suddenly. Come in and sit down.’ He moves a pile of books off the sofa.

‘What has?’

‘The sale.’ I must be looking particularly stupid, because he adds, ‘Of the flat, you see,’ in the sort of voice you’d use with a four-year-old child.

‘You’ve sold the flat?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why?’ I sound like a four-year-old child as well.

‘To pay the taxman, I’m afraid. When my partner died, he left the flat to me. It was always in his name, although we paid for it together, but back in those days you didn’t just swan in and ask for a joint mortgage. He had a bit of money from his grandmother and he could afford the deposit, so it was his. We always meant to do something about it, but you know what it’s like … Lawyers and all that … We’d made wills, and we thought that would be enough. But of course when it comes to it, I have to pay inheritance tax on its current market value. And that, I’m afraid, is far beyond my means, thanks to the way property prices in this area have gone up.’

I feel guilty, as if that’s my fault.

‘We paid the mortgage off years ago, and I thought I was safe and sound. Never thought about the taxman. Well, there’s no way that I can afford the amount of money they’re asking me for so I have to sell up and move into something smaller and cheaper.’ He shrugs, stares out the window. ‘Much smaller.’

‘But that’s ridiculous,’ I say. ‘They can’t throw you out of your own home.’

‘That’s what I said, but you can’t argue with the taxman. Mark my words.’

‘There must be something you can do.’

‘There was. We could have got married. But, like I told you, we never quite got round to it. I mean, when you’re our age, and you’ve been together for as long as we had, it’s not something you feel the need to rush into. Stephen was always nagging us, but we used to laugh at him and say he just wanted to wear a bridesmaid’s outfit. Well, turns out he was right. We should have got married. No inheritance tax for civil partners.’

‘Oh God. So when’s it going on the market?’

‘It’s gone, Robert. Sold within a week.’

‘Sold …’

‘Yes, to a very nice couple.’

‘Gay?’

‘Straight.’

‘When?’

‘Next week.’

‘Just … just like that?’

‘Just like that. Better than hanging around, I suppose.’ He looked round. ‘I thought I would leave here in a box, but that’s not what was meant to be.’

I can’t think of anything to say. I don’t understand why I’m feeling so upset. I stare at the carpet – that horrible, swirly carpet that, next week, will be rolled up and sticking out of a skip somewhere.