‘It’s just us now,’ I said to break the silence and, on cue, Alfie appeared on the stairs, his tail a twitching question mark, his claws clicking. He curled around my ankles and I bent to give him a stroke. ‘I’m at the hospice today, but Grace’s coming tonight,’ I told him. ‘You’ll like her. She’s more fun than I am.’

Alfie continued twisting around my ankles, pushing against me as I tickled his head. He was very much my cat, although it had been Rohan who’d picked him out. I wondered if Alfie still remembered the day he’d arrived home in a grey plastic pet carrier, which Rohan had plonked on the hall floor right where the two of us now stood.

‘Abi! Come and see what I’ve got!’ Rohan had called. It had been about a year after we’d married.

‘What on earth?’ I’d asked, emerging from the kitchen and realizing with a thud in my solar plexus that my husband had brought home an animal.

‘You need to love something besides me,’ Rohan had said with a sheepish smile on his face. ‘It’s too much pressure.’

From inside the carrier came a mew. A series of mews.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Rohan said.

‘Are you serious?’

‘He’s from the rescue centre,’ Rohan said. ‘Though how anyone could abandon him I’ve no idea. He’s about a year old, they think. Vaccinated and neutered. Go on, take a look.’

I’d knelt down in front of the carrier, unfastened the door and come face to face with a small silver tabby cat with clear green eyes. He stepped forward and, without hesitation, rubbed his cheek on my hand, then on my knee, then all over me. Warming to the idea of a cat, I stroked his back – his fur soft and surprisingly thin; underneath the fur, his body had been smaller than it seemed. The cat’s back arched up to meet my hand, his spine pushing against my palm. His movements around my legs left a swathe of silver cat hair on the black of my jogging pants. I wore paler colours now.

Rohan’s smile had cracked his face. ‘I think he likes you,’ he’d said. ‘What do you think? Is there room in your heart for both of us?’ He’d given me a boyish smile. ‘But seriously, if you don’t want him, I’ll…’

I’d scooped up the cat and cuddled his little body against me. His purrs had vibrated against my chest.

‘He’s lovely,’ I’d said.

‘Phew.’ Rohan had mock-wiped his brow.

‘What’s his name?’

‘At the shelter they called him Catty McCatface, but I’m sure he’ll go with whatever you want.’

‘Alphonsus,’ I said. ‘Alfie.’