He turned then, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking off down Long Causeway. I followed him, almost trotting to catch up, and took his arm, slowed his pace a little. ‘So you were watching me all that time and didn’t say?’

‘How about asking how my day was?’ he shot back.

I was still trying to interpret his tone. While I tried to figure it out, I asked lightly, ‘How was your day?’

His face was set. ‘Okay.’

‘What you been doing?’

‘Not much.’

And that was how the conversation was all the way to Spaghettini.

I waited until we had ordered, giving it a few minutes for him to settle. While I waited, I thought about how I felt, when I got home from work: that feeling of relief I lived alone because if there was anyone there who expected to talk to me or wanted my attention before I’d had a cup of tea and a biscuit I would feel like sinking an axe into their skull. He’d come straight from work and he’d had a bad day. I would wait until he was ready to explain. While I waited, I played with a bowl of sugar on the table, stirring the white crystals with the tiny teaspoon that rested in the bowl, until he reached out and put his hand on top of mine.

It felt like a conciliatory gesture, so I looked at him. I thought he was about to explain why he had texted me that he was late when he was there already. Where had he been, watching me, and why?

‘So,’ he said, with another of his tight little smiles. ‘Who were you talking to?’

‘A friend,’ I retorted quickly, not meeting his gaze.

‘What sort of friend?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You were laughing. What sort of friend? A male friend. I’m right, aren’t I?’

I sighed, withdrew my hand from under his and sat back in my seat with a slight frown, as if I was troubled by this line of questioning, but secretly I was thrilled. So that was what was wrong. Matty was jealous.

It occurred to me to lie about who I had been talking to but I realised my motivation was suspect: I would be doing it because he would be able to tell I was lying and that would take his jealousy up a notch.

I wondered where Matty had been hiding – it couldn’t have been too close otherwise I would have seen him, so he wouldn’t have been able to hear my end of the conversation but he would have seen me laugh. I answered him smugly, as if it was a trump card of some sort.

‘Well, if you must know, it was my ex-boyfriend, Ian.’

‘I see,’ he said lightly. ‘You haven’t mentioned Ian before.’

‘You haven’t asked.’