He stood in front of Alison and she reached up, took a mug, and smiled at him. His hair had fallen across his eyes again and he blew upwards out of the corner of his mouth so he could see her properly, an unconscious habit, so familiar to her now. They held each other’s gaze for a moment; then Alison stood up.

‘Shall we take this upstairs?’ she said.

She woke with a jolt, as if she’d been prodded. Daylight. She was in Daniel’s single bed and he was sleeping beside her, on his back, with one arm flung above his head. His other arm cradled her to him so that to move, she had to carefully peel him away and ease herself from his warmth. She’d never stayed the night here, and told herself now that she really hadn’t meant to, although the last bus to Attercliffe was already long gone by the time they’d shrugged off their clothes and tumbled together on to the bed. Each time they had sex, Alison felt a little less self-conscious about it, Daniel a little more competent, each of them a little more at home. Last night, when the sex was over but their bodies were still pressed close, Alison had held her mouth against his ear and told Daniel she loved him, but he was on the very edge of sleep by then, and he didn’t really hear, he only murmured something incoherent in reply, hardly words at all. Then they’d both slept, deeply, until that slice of sunlight sidling in through a gap in the curtains had fallen across Alison’s face, making her acknowledge the day.