By the time I got home she’d usually gone to bed, and I was glad. Sometimes, though, she would still be sitting on the sofa, watching the late-­night film. I would sit beside her, put my arm around her and think: please don’t say anything! Please don’t say anything now, let’s just sit here and watch the rest of this film, please!

And every time she would start. I was wrong if I thought she was the kind of woman who meddled in other people’s affairs. ‘Don’t think I want to tell you what to do,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to change you. I’d just like to understand you. If I’m living with you, I’d like at least to have some idea of who you are and what the hell is going on in your head!’

She could really fly into a rage at moments like these. She would pace up and down, talking loudly, wave her arms around, abruptly change direction, stop, stare me in the face, then pace about some more. By the light of the television it looked as if she was doing a crazy dance.

One evening, a little after Christmas, I was later than usual. It was cold; out on the street a biting wind was blowing away the light, dry snow of the past few days. I’d had a small win, and was looking forward to getting home; oddly enough, I was hoping Louise would still be awake and that things might resolve themselves tonight. I walked through the snow, heard the coins jingling in my trouser pocket, and imagined how it would be to stroke the back of her neck.

She was sitting on the sofa. The TV was off, and I could see that she’d been crying.

‘I’d like you to stop,’ she said.

‘Stop what?’

‘Take off your coat.’

‘What am I supposed to stop?’ I asked again. I stood there, in the middle of the room, and felt as if my shoes were nailed to the floor. My hands were cold and heavy. The coat dripped and dripped.

She said, ‘I want you to decide. Either you stop, or you leave.’

I laughed out loud. It was an angry laugh, abrupt and quiet. I felt betrayed. Suddenly I felt heat behind my eyes, and my shoulders tensed.

‘Don’t do it,’ she said quietly. She stared at her hands in her lap and shook her head slowly. The clock ticked on the wall above the spot where her grandmother had always sat.

‘Louise,’ I said.

She raised her head and looked at me. ‘Leave,’ she said. ‘Please, just leave now.’

I couldn’t speak. But what could I have said? At first I thought perhaps we could get through it somehow; then I realized it was too late. I loved her, but she made me choose. And that was ridiculous, because there was no choice.

As I closed the door behind me, I heard her in there, sobbing. It was like the wail of an animal, a noise like nothing I’d ever heard before.