‘A lump? Is everything OK?’

‘Yeah. It’s fine now. I got the results back yesterday. It just made me feel really alone, to be honest. I was panicking about it. And I realized that it’s something I would have talked to you about … You were the person I always confided in. I went to the doctors. I’m just … I don’t know. Not very good at telling people this sort of stuff. It’s not like I can talk about it with the lads. Especially with it being on one of my balls.’ He laughs. I chuckle too.

‘That’s a shame. Friends should talk about that kind of stuff. Friends talk about everything.’ I realize the irony in that sentence, seeing how distant my own friends feel right now.

‘Yeah. You’re right. I suppose I just used to tell you everything. I didn’t need them, I guess you were my best friend.’

‘I’m glad you’re OK now,’ I say, trying to ignore how much that sentence punctured me. I am trying to remain neutral and calm.

‘Yeah. It was just a cyst.’

‘OK. That’s good.’ I really want to reach out and touch his hands; they are rough and pink at the knuckles with eczema.

‘I feel like total shit to be honest, Ol,’ he says, rubbing his hands together.

‘I’m so glad it was just a scare … But you have so many people you could have told. It’s not fair to drag me back into seeing you. I’m trying to rebuild things on my own here. It’s been absolutely horrible these past few months.’ My voice is cracking.

‘Sorry. I just … I really miss you.’ Now his voice is wavering.

‘Do you? Or do you miss having a girlfriend? Because I think people can get the two things very confused.’ I am shocked at how spiteful that sounds after it’s come out of my mouth.

‘Olive.’

‘Yes?’

‘What if we … you … changed your mind? What if you feel differently about starting a family later down the line? Sorry to drag it all back up but … we could have a great life together. I was just angry and upset at how distant you were near the end and … I don’t know. I didn’t mean to shut you out, I want to give you more time,’ he says, trying to keep a lid on the desperation of it all.

‘I’m sorry that you feel regretful over what you said. You were pretty certain that it wasn’t going to work. You know that you want your future to have children in it. And honestly, I respect that. But my instinct’s telling me that I don’t want children now, and I can’t see that changing. You’re ready for them, quite clearly. So where does that leave us?’

‘But this all feels so wrong. We are perfect for each other. This is, like, the only fight we’ve actually ever had!’

‘That’s not true. We had plenty of fights, and you know it. This is the one thing we could never meet in the middle on. We could never meet halfway. We could on all the other stuff. The other stuff isn’t as major. This isn’t moving to a new house, or choosing where to spend Christmas, or what colour to paint the bathroom. All that is day-to-day decision-making and compromise and we are – were – good at that. But we can’t compromise on this, and honestly, I don’t think either of us should have to. You’re allowed to change your mind about what colour you want to paint the walls – you can just paint over them again. But you can’t do that with a baby! With a baby, you cannot just go back to the way things were if you decide you don’t like it. We’re talking about bringing a life into the world. A human life! A real person, Jacob.’