‘No. No. I insist. All the donations will make a lot of money. You must have spent thousands.’

I nod. I have spent thousands. I had nothing better to do. He brings out some boxes.

‘I found these. I didn’t throw anything away that looked personal.’

The kettle’s on and he’s making me tea. I open the lids of the boxes and they’re family photographs. Pictures of Jack and me. Then us and the kids. I look at them with my new knowledge and see that on some of them he looks strained. Distracted. Interested in the kids but not in me.

Did I know? Did I know all this and desperately try to keep him? Was it all part of a super-competitive game where I couldn’t bear to lose? I go through the pictures. I think I read a paper somewhere that said family photographs are usually 60 per cent landscapes to contextualise them. I throw away all the landscapes. These photographs don’t need a context because they don’t represent reality.

I watch as Lee washes up.

‘Sugar?’

I shake my head.

‘No. Thank you. Did you do all this yourself?’

‘No. I called two people to help, but they went about fourish. I thought I’d better wait until you got back to make sure it was still fine. You could have sold some of that stuff, you know – eBay.’

I laugh.

‘Yeah, but that would mean effort. I just needed to get rid. It’s been difficult.’

He nods and sips his tea.

‘All right now, though?’

He looks like he really cares. He’s looking directly at me. Maybe he’s just worried. He’s seen the inside of my home, which reflects the inside of my head. Maybe I’m over-analysing.

‘On the way.’

There’s a long silence and he’s finished his tea. He stands up and sits down.

‘Right. Right, then. Look. After the other night at the hotel … I can come back and paint that cupboard if you want. I was going to … but I’m not big on going out.’

I stare at him. He’s asking me out. He’s asking me out and he knows who I am. He’s seen that I’m some mad hoarding lady and he still likes me. It feels dangerous. Risky. He somehow senses it.

‘It’s just a date. Don’t worry.’

I nod. I want to trust him. I do. I want to. The notion that this is what brave means washes over my consciousness. Doing something you are scared of. But if I don’t, I’m a victim. Jack’s victim.

‘Er. OK. Not this weekend, though. I’m getting to see my kids.’

His eyes betray him. He’s been in those rooms and he knows that they haven’t been used for a long, long time.

‘That’s brilliant. Really brilliant. So what about Tuesday? Next week?’