As I said it, I thought about the way the man had looked at me when he was standing outside the school. Stock still, staring, his eyes cold. Aggression seeming to radiate off him. I experienced a small chill.

I went over to her and wrapped my arms around her narrow middle, leaning down to rest my chin on her shoulder. She smelled better than any person I’d ever known, and I breathed her in for a moment.

‘You’re feeling better?’

She nodded, looking down at the stove top.

‘I’m …’ I began ‘… I hope I wasn’t a dick the other day.’

She twisted her head and gave me one swift kiss on the lips before turning back to her stirring.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said, which didn’t exactly reassure me.

‘What are you cooking?’ I said.

‘Making a cheese sauce,’ she said. ‘For a mac cheese.’

I smiled into her neck. I was obviously forgiven. Despite all the things that my palate had been introduced to in the last few years – from crocodile steaks to guinea fowl, quinoa to (unforgettably) coffee that came out of a civet’s bum – I still hankered for the comfort foods of my childhood, sometimes. This was one of the few things my mum used to cook from scratch and eating it made me think of being cosy on the sofa and watching telly together on winter evenings.

‘To what do I owe the honour?’

She turned and pecked me on the cheek.

‘I just thought the first day back marshalling the little monsters of Beverley Park might warrant comfort food,’ she said. ‘Especially now I know you’ve had to deal with thuggy dads and stave off maniacs in trucks.’

‘Well,’ I said sheepishly, ‘it wasn’t exactly a truck … but thanks.’

She started to stir more vigorously. I took the hint and moved away, going to the fridge to find some juice.

‘I meant to tell you,’ she said. ‘Managed to lose my phone yesterday.’

I hadn’t clocked that we hadn’t had a text exchange today, what with everything that was going on.

I paused with the juice carton in my hand. ‘That’s a bummer,’ I said. ‘Have you used the finder app?’ We had a program that showed you where your phone or laptop had last been used. It had been very handy when I’d lost my laptop last year, enabling me to track it down to a café on the seafront.

She carried on stirring, her back to me.

‘Yeah but it’s clearly been unlocked and disabled by someone.’ She flashed me a quick, bright smile. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It was a bit knackered anyway. I treated myself to an iPhone 8. I’ll give you the new number, wait …’