Sitting at the cafe table, she looked for the shape of Rohan in the clumps of suited men crossing the street. She wondered if she would break, renege on her decision, blurt out the truth, betray Paula.

When she spotted him walking towards her, she felt how much she loved him like a pressure on her sternum, and at exactly the same time, she felt how impossible it would be to stay with him now.

Rohan signalled hello and then paused at the cafe counter to order a pot of tea. When he joined her at the table, she could feel him looking at her searchingly, wanting to understand. That made Anita fidgety, fiddling with the teaspoon, wriggling in the chair, as if by constantly moving, she could avoid being properly seen.

‘Are you okay? Has something happened?’ he asked, leaning forward, anxious for her.

‘No. Well, only the stuff you already know.’

After that, he looked less worried and more wounded. He sat back in his chair, defensive.

‘Then I’m confused,’ he said. ‘Have I missed something? Am I being thick about something that’s going on?’

‘No, no. I think it’s just everything that’s happened—I don’t know—I thought I was ready to be in a relationship but I’ve realised I’m not.’

‘Is this you wanting to even the score for that time I went to ground after the verdict?’ he asked. ‘I mean, I realise that was annoying, but I’ve explained and apologised and I thought we’d—’

‘It’s not that,’ she said.

Rohan looked at her, waiting for more, so she blathered on, reminding him of her initial hesitation, the weird and painful way they had become connected in the first place. She poured blame onto herself: she had warned him she was an anxious, sometimes unstable person. The ending of her last relationship and then the trauma about Stacey had left her more of a mess than she’d acknowledged. Now she’d hit a wall and needed to be by herself to sort stuff out.

As she kept talking, not making eye contact, letting a string of unconvincing phrases tumble out of her mouth, Rohan listened silently, which only rattled Anita more.

She interrupted her own unimpressive ramble to ask, ‘Can you please say something? You can say I’m a terrible, scatty, immature person who’s toyed with your feelings and—I don’t know what you think, but—oh …’

‘I think you don’t give yourself enough credit for being a strong person who can get through this stuff. And yes, okay, the way we got to know each other is connected to very painful things, but I don’t … Look, I think you could give me more credit as someone who can handle whatever we need to—I mean, I love you, Anita. I think you should trust that more than you seem to.’