I let my head fall against the back of the sofa. Patrick sat down carefully next to me, his rear neatly filling the spot. Silence filled the space around us.

Patrick spoke first. Slowly and carefully. ‘I’m going to mourn her good and proper.’ He began. ‘That’s what Eve would have wanted me to do anyway. She said so once. “I hope you will grieve properly for me if I die. I don’t expect you to get out of bed for a month”. Didn’t expect it to actually happen though, did I? Now I have to fulfil her wish.’

I smiled both at what Eve had said, as I could visualise her saying it the way Patrick mocked her voice, and also at the prospect of Patrick setting up camp in bed for a month on his dead girlfriend’s wishes.

‘I see you have supplies.’ I nodded at the bottle of brandy in front of us on the coffee table.

‘Ah yes, a gift from our girl. She gave it to me at Christmas. I was saving it for a… well, like you do. Course, those days never come. I’ve realised that now. Every day was special with Eve. Every moment a celebration.’ He looked at me. ‘I’ll make you a herbal tea, shall I?’

I nodded and let Patrick’s words hang for a moment, hating the reality of them. Hating that time couldn’t be reversed and how we should have lived a little longer in those moments; felt them a little harder.

‘It’s nice in here. You’ve made it really cosy. I’ve not been here for a while,’ I called through to the kitchen where I heard the kettle starting up. I looked around at several pieces of modern art hanging from the wall. There was a large red fluffy rug that spread the length of the room. Also, a small electric faux fireplace in the corner which Patrick had switched on when we arrived.

There were two framed pictures of Patrick and Eve on the small table next to the sofa and one on the coffee table. I imagined that Patrick had been looking at this particular one a lot recently as it looked out of place sitting amongst the coasters and books.

I liked the feel of Patrick’s place. It felt like home. It felt like Eve.

‘I can’t take credit for any of it. Eve did all this.’ Patrick pointed around with one hand as he handed me a steaming mug of peppermint tea. He clicked on a small black wireless radio, instantly soothing orchestral sounds escaped the tiny speakers and punctured the too-silent room.

‘I like to listen to Classic FM,’ Patrick told me as though I would question it.

‘I miss music,’ I said.

‘Oh, how so?’

‘Annie doesn’t play music. I only heard carols at Christmas, from a record player. She has no TV, no radio. It’s very quiet. I mean, in a way it’s nice but I need the distraction of music.’