‘Yeah, me too, although my bones might argue we left it a tiny bit late.’

She winces. ‘Sorry, again.’

‘It’s fine, really.’

There’s a loud cheer at the other end of the field; someone must have scored.

Douglas and Joel have lifted Claudia in the air and Verity does a little fist pump in the air in solidarity with her team.

She runs over and joins the celebration and I head towards Miles, who’s bent double at the waist and panting. ‘It was a tight game.’ I rub his back and he brings himself up to standing and doesn’t say anything.

‘That was so much fun,’ says Layla. ‘We’ll have to do it again.’

‘Absolutely,’ says Douglas, clearly buzzing. He puts Claudia down and hugs the rest of his team. ‘Who knew you don’t need alcohol to have fun.’

After the game we drift over to the car park. Joel climbs in the passenger seat of Brett’s car, whilst Soph and Verity squeeze into the backseat next to Alfie’s ginormous car seat. They’re heading straight back as Alfie’s fast asleep and they want to get him home. Jake and Douglas also head out and we wave them off.

‘Does anyone fancy going out and grabbing a drink?’ asks Layla, turning to the rest of us who don’t need to drive home. ‘We’ve still got a babysitter for another hour or two.’

‘I’d be up for that.’ Claudia turns to Robin and he nods in agreement.

‘Us too,’ says Aaron.

I turn to Miles.

‘Do you fancy going?’

‘Actually, I think I’m going to give it a miss.’

At his response, I know deep down we can’t carry on like this.

‘Thanks, Layla, but I think I’ll head back with Miles. Do you want to come back to my flat?’

He nods. No one says anything, but I can sense that we all know what’s coming.

Layla wraps me up in a hug, squeezing me a little bit too hard, and it makes my muscles hurt even more. ‘We’ll just be in the pub, if you change your mind.’

‘Thanks guys. See you all soon.’

I watch them walk off, wishing I was going with them, but instead I head into the flat, dreading what’s to come.

Chapter 27

It’s a warm evening and we arrive back at my flat. I pull out a bottle of rosé from the fridge, removing the cockerel corkscrew before Miles sees. I don’t want to offend him that the Tiffany one he bought me is still in its original packaging. I grab two glasses and we head onto my balcony.

I sit down at the bistro table that just about fits in the small space, and Miles leans with his back against the railings, cradling the glass in his hands.

‘So things aren’t great, are they?’ I say.