‘You know, that Sunday, after Sunday lunch with my parents.’

‘Which Sunday lunch? We haven’t been to Sunday lunch with your parents for ages.’

‘No, before Christmas I mean. I went alone, you know the one, you were working and I came back in a really bad mood and you grabbed my face.’

He scratched the back of his head. ‘Lisa, I’m not sure I can remember that far back, honest to God I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about … I did what, exactly?’

Surely he could not have forgotten? ‘We had a row, about tea, and you grabbed my face. You were telling me about the girl, the one where you had to do stitches on a Sunday morning. She’d fallen onto a radiator.’

For a moment, he kept his face still, thinking, then it dawned on him and he gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘Lisa, honestly, talk about exaggeration. I didn’t grab your face. I showed you where I’d stitched her, I was explaining, honestly, really …’

‘You grabbed my face hard.’

‘I’m sorry but Lisa, it just never happened.’

‘It was really uncomfortable.’

‘Yeah, well, I guess it’s pretty uncomfortable for the poor kid having her face stitched and honest to God, Lisa, the most I would have done is shown you. Seriously, I do wonder sometimes …’

‘Wonder what?’

‘I dunno, Lisa …’ He dropped his head then, his voice became low as he turned away, then back, both hands held out low, palms upwards, ‘honestly, what? What do you think of me? Just stop and think of what you’re accusing me of. Am I abusive? Have I ever hit you, have I?’

‘I’m not saying …’

‘Just answer the question.’

‘Matty, I never said …’

‘Have I ever hit you, have I?’

‘No.’

‘Have I ever punched you in the stomach, or slapped you, or pushed you down the stairs or held a knife to your throat, have I?’

‘I’m just trying to explain …’

‘Have I? Have I? We have to get this straight because quite seriously I’m wondering if you’re totally insane or I am, you’ve got me wondering about myself now, have I ever ever hit you, or been violent towards you, ever in any way, have I?’

‘No, no, I’m not saying …’

‘Have I? Have I? I need a straight answer.’

‘I’ve already said no, I’ve already said I’m not …’

He was facing me full on now, standing over me, his face rigid. ‘Because you know, I’ve seen domestic abuse victims, I’ve stitched a few of them up in my time. I once set a broken tibia on a seventeen-year-old. Her boyfriend had punched her to the pavement and jumped on her, right outside a Tesco Metro, while his mates stood and watched. You wouldn’t believe what some men are capable of, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you and I’ve seen it and if you’re putting me in the same bracket as, as …’ He gasped to a halt and clapped a hand over his face, shaking his head. ‘Dear God, I don’t believe I’m even hearing this.’