‘You know how much I’ve set my heart on having a proper cast-iron clawfoot bath, Ben. I’ve been dreaming of it for months, years probably. It’s on my Pinterest mood board and everything,’ I add jokingly, but he doesn’t laugh.

‘And you know you don’t have the budget for one, don’t you?’ He pulls out a spreadsheet. ‘They don’t come cheap, those baths – not if you want an original one that’s been restored and refurbished.’

I hate it when he reminds me about the budget.

‘You’re renovating a cottage, not opening a boutique hotel, you know.’

He’s right, of course. The prices are ridiculous. Even the cheapest one I found on eBay was more than I could afford. I’ve been bringing in more money from tutoring, but I still need to be sensible.

‘Stanley loves his attic bedroom.’ Switching off his torch, Ben closes the loft hatch. ‘And you could even have a wet room, if you wanted.’

‘OK, you win,’ I concede with a sigh.

Satisfied, Ben turns to leave the bathroom, and it strikes me that this is the first time we’ve been alone in the house together. I think about the speech I’ve been rehearsing in my mind ever since I learned the truth about his wife: how sorry I am for his loss; how I want him to know that I’m here for him and Stanley, should he ever need anything.

‘Ben.’ As he starts to walk downstairs, I quickly follow him before the opportunity is missed. ‘I wanted to say something.’ I’m abruptly nervous.

‘Don’t tell me. You’ve changed your mind about the mixer taps for the kitchen island.’

‘No, it’s not about the mixer taps.’

Our footsteps clatter loudly on the bare stone steps as we go downstairs.

‘Because you know I wasn’t sure about the brass fittings, either.’

‘No, I like the brass fittings.’

At the bottom of the staircase, he turns. ‘I did wonder if we should have gone with the brushed steel instead.’

‘No, Ben—’

‘But don’t worry, I can change them tomorrow.’ He reaches for the door.

‘I know about your wife,’ I blurt.

For a moment my words seem to hang, suspended in the air. Regret stabs. That’s not how I rehearsed it. With his back to me, I watch his body stiffen.

‘I’m really sorry, I had no idea.’

There’s a silence. Ben doesn’t speak or turn to look at me. Instead there’s a pause as he raises his hand to his brow and tilts his head skywards, as if he’s thinking how to reply.

‘Shit.’ He lets out a heavy sigh.

My chest tightens as I realize I’ve said the wrong thing. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.’

Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? I’m intruding on his grief, and it’s none of my business. I feel the urgent need to explain.

‘I’ve thought about it forever – I wasn’t sure what to say, but I couldn’t ignore it.’

‘This is all I need.’