Annie eyed the pair of us up without smiling. She continued to remove the plates and walked towards the sink.

‘That’s okay, son. I just wanted to get something nice that Daisy could keep, a little welcome into the family.’ There was a vagueness to her voice as she walked away.

‘That was nice of your mum,’ I said quickly in a hushed tone but I knew my expression did not match my words. Ben didn’t have time to respond as Annie was back at the table. I forced my face into a smile.

‘I’ll stick it on the fridge at home.’ I said loudly and stuffed the box with the wrapping paper into my handbag, knowing it would stay there for many weeks along with screwed up receipts and packets of chewing gum. I turned to Ben. ‘Fancy showing me your room, handsome?’

I stood in Ben’s old bedroom looking at the neatly arranged paraphernalia along the tops of the drawers and the endless framed photographs of Ben and Annie together. I noted that there was never anyone else posed with them.

My mind flooded with a hundred thoughts, all with one binding theme, how much did I really know about Ben? Here I was in his childhood home, having tea with his mum and yet I could sense an absence. Annie’s obvious dislike towards me was palpable and the beach house bore a sadness, a feeling of loss; the missing parent in the photographs illustrated that clearly. I wondered if perhaps the lack of a father figure in Ben’s life played a stronger role than he or Annie would ever admit.

Ben had dived onto the double bed and was lying on his side, supporting his head with his hand. His dark hair, although persistently tousled, bore a slight shine from his shower that morning and I was tempted, as I always was, to run my hands through its silkiness. He usually had some stubble but today he had shaved for the occasion, highlighting his strong jaw and full lips. He blinked slowly, and gave me the softest of smiles.

It was hard for me to believe he had only begun moving out of this house three months ago, in September. We’d only been together for two months, but by then we knew about the baby. Ben was overjoyed and so began bringing more of his things from home to the apartment I shared with Eve. Now looking around Ben’s old room, I could see how Annie had converted it into a museum, a shrine to her only son. It made me think about the rest of the house that I had seen so far, that bore no memories or photographs. It was as though Annie had wanted to cram it all into one room, away from prying eyes.

I carried on looking around the room and made a show of pointing at various school certificates in neat wooden frames.