It was a long walk, which I had been looking forward to until I had overheard my parents talking about me and it had started raining. Sometimes Matty would come and collect me when I went to see my parents on my own – it was nice to have a boyfriend with a car who was happy to drop me off places and pick me up again, I had to admit that – but he had driven to the hospital and I wasn’t expecting him back until later.

I was surprised to see his car parked outside the flat when I got back. I’d thought he was on an all-day shift but maybe it was only a half day, maybe I had misunderstood.

As I let myself in, I was welcomed by the warm fug of the heating on full and saw that Matty was on the sofa in his T-shirt and boxers, reading the News Review section of the Sunday Times.

‘Blimey, it’s roasting in here,’ I grumbled as I unwound my scarf from my neck and unbuttoned my coat. The flat was too small for a hallway – the front door opened straight onto the living room and there was a coat rack on the wall just to the left. Now there were two of us, it bulged with coats. The shoes beneath were always in a jumble, climbing over each other, no matter how often I paired and straightened them.

I went to the sofa and plonked myself down on the other end of it, dropping heavily, shaking the structure of it. ‘Mum and Dad …’ I said, a groan trapped inside those three low monosyllables, moaning for release.

Matty lowered the paper. He looked at me over it and replied with a few cool monosyllables of his own. ‘Make us a cup of tea.’

I was in such a bad mood that the words came out of me smoothly and flowingly, without thought. ‘You make it, for God’s sake, I’ve had a really annoying lunch with my parents and anyway I always make the tea …’ Even as I was saying this, my mood was draining from my blood, and being replaced by something else – what was it? The knowledge that because I was tired and cross, I had spoken out of turn?

Matty did not reply. He closed the paper and folded it neatly, turned and placed it on the coffee table next to his end of the sofa. Then, still without speaking, he leaned over towards me.

He reached out a hand and for a moment I thought he was going to stroke my cheek, ask me what was wrong and whether I wanted to talk about it.