At six Ben still wasn’t home. I laid the table, setting out the napkins and wine glasses. I found them in the back of the cupboard; we didn’t usually drink wine. I lit a candle in the middle of the two settings, then blew it out again. Was it too intimate? Was I sending out the wrong message? What message did I want to send? I hadn’t been out with anyone since Dean, a year ago, but things felt different with Ben. I’d never cooked for Dean, but we had gone out for dinner a few times before things fizzled out. A relationship wasn’t at the top of either of our priorities at the time; I’d wanted to concentrate on building my career in marketing. Now the enthusiasm for that had dwindled too. I’d been changed by the assault, life had been turned on its head. Things that used to matter so much to me were irrelevant, and stuff which would previously go over my head infuriated me now. I wasn’t sure who I was any more. I was still waiting for the pills to level me out.

At quarter to seven, I pan fried the steaks, turning them over and browning each side. They sizzled, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma. I had made potato wedges and a salad to go with the steak and bought a cheesecake for dessert. It wasn’t until I was taking the wedges out of the oven that I heard Ben’s key in the door. My mouth dropped open in surprise, oven glove in hand, as he entered the kitchen. He’d been to the hairdressers and his shaggy dark hair had been transformed into a short back and sides. He wore a blue and red checked shirt tucked into dark denim jeans. I had never seen him look so smart out of his work clothes. He plonked a bottle of wine on the table and grinned at my open mouth.

‘Wine? It’s chilled,’ he asked as he grabbed a corkscrew out of the drawer and opened the bottle.

‘Wow. Look at you!’ I turned my back on him and busied myself dishing up to hide the blush creeping up my neck. ‘Sit,’ I ordered and delivered the plates to the table as he poured. ‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ I admitted.

‘Like I’d stand you up. My life wouldn’t be worth living. I’ve been on the end of one of your punches remember.’

The strange atmosphere between us, charged from when he’d entered the room, dispersed. Ben cut through his steak, blushing pink in the middle but thankfully no blood, popped it in his mouth and chewed. His eyes rolling in delight.

‘Amazing,’ he said. His pupils were dilated, but I couldn’t work out if it was the steak or me.