It took thirteen unanswered calls in two days but eventually Rowan agreed to see me – or rather, agreed to give me back my possessions. The perk of never having lived together, I discovered, was that we didn’t have to dismantle a washing machine straight down the middle or argue over exactly who it was that insisted on the larger television screen when it came to footing the bill. The sad part of me wondered whether this – this niggle of knowing that maybe he and I would arrive here – was why we’d never closed the gap between our homes. Marriage, though, that would have been fine … I thought as I folded another of his shirts into a neat square and set it on top of the third box I’d packed. I dropped the box on the back seat of my car and tried to focus on the relieved part instead: relief that there were only three boxes of his things; relief that he said he only had one box and a carrier bag to give back to me; relief that soon, this would all just be …

I sighed and slammed the car door closed. ‘Over.’

Rowan didn’t help me with the heavy lifting when I arrived outside of his building and unloaded the back of the car. Maybe he hadn’t seen me. But he was fast enough to open the front door before I’d even had time to ring the bell. He stacked one box on top of another and squatted to pick them up, then he flashed a thin smile.

‘Kettle’s on.’ He turned and walked into the flat, so I grabbed the last box and followed.

So we’ll be talking, then. I made a show of looking around. ‘The boys aren’t here?’

‘They said they’d give us some space. Didn’t want to get caught up in …’ He waved away the end of the sentence, but then added, ‘Whatever.’ He pulled milk from the fridge and cups from the cupboard, and I noticed that while he made a drink in ‘his mug’ – a pitch-black ceramic that grew the Batman logo when hot water collided with it – he wasn’t making a drink in the one I’d always used. He handed me the drink awkwardly, with the handle angled between us. ‘I packed your mug.’

Shots fired. I nodded and accepted the tea. My mug – or rather, what used to be my mug – was a white ceramic with a photo-booth picture of me kissing Rowan’s cheek on the side. And I suddenly felt the need to brace for impact. What else will be in those boxes? I sipped my drink, even though it was too hot. ‘Should we sit?’ I didn’t wait for an answer, only took myself to the armchair in the corner of the room and set my cup on the floor, a safe distance from my feet.