We hadn’t asked for the bill but the young waitress returned with it anyway, the white slip of paper weighted down by two square chocolates wrapped in gold foil. Matty was on a Saturday night, away from work, he deserved to be relaxing and we had had a perfectly pleasant evening up until then but thanks to the call from Jasmine, his head was elsewhere now.

I thought through the timeline of my brief trip to the toilet. Was it her that called him, or him that called her? Perhaps she texted him. I’m really upset about something, can we talk? If it was him that made the call, then he must have known I would return from the toilet while he was still talking to her. Why say it was her that called him? Why not just say, she texted me; she was upset so I thought I’d better give her a call? I wanted one of the chocolates but felt too small.

*

Jasmine became a thing between us. I should have just left it, never mentioned her, let whatever was or wasn’t happening burn out, run its course. Instead, I found myself asking, a few days later, as we were in the bedroom getting undressed, ‘How’s Jasmine, is she feeling better?’

‘Yes, much better actually,’ he replied. ‘It’s sort of a rite of passage for any medical professional. I really feel for her. I went through something similar myself, I told her, everyone does. First time a child dies, it’s really bad.’ He pulled his shirt over his head and then gave it a single hard shake, like a bullfighter, before crumpling it between his fists and tossing it into the laundry bin with one swift, accurate motion.

‘When did you speak to her?’

This was too much: I got the cool look. ‘I haven’t spoken to her, actually, we’ve been texting. That okay with you? Ask your best friend Rosie if you don’t believe me.’

‘No, don’t be silly, I just wondered, that’s all.’ We’ve been texting: the present continuous.

‘Oh, you “just wondered”, did you?’

I turned away towards the bathroom to brush my teeth. I had humiliated myself quite enough for one evening.

As I rammed the toothbrush up and down with unnecessary vigour, Matty came and leant against the doorpost, folding his arms. He watched me for a moment or two. I had put too much toothpaste onto the toothbrush and was foaming at the mouth. I spat into the sink.

‘What are you afraid of?’ he asked.

I spat again. ‘Nothing,’ I said. All at once I was sorry I had raised it. I really, really did not want to be having this conversation.

‘Do you think I’m sleeping with her?’

‘No!’ I turned to him. What did he mean? Of course I didn’t.