Late afternoon crowds fill the bars, mostly tourists. Our dinner booking with Claire and Axel is for eight. We’re not far from the restaurant, Amano, in the trendy central hub of Britomart, but our reservation isn’t for another hour, so Cain wants to have a drink first.

‘What about here?’ I say, pointing to the terraces of a bar overlooking the busiest corner of the viaduct. It’s near the America’s Cup exhibit showing the black keel of the 1995 winning yacht. He looks up, sees all the knots of young people on the patio.

‘Busy for a Tuesday,’ he says. ‘There’s a quieter place around the corner.’

‘Sure.’

He takes us to a wine bar, a different crowd. Hipster types, a few suits having a knock-off. We find a quiet booth.

‘You want a wine?’ he says.

‘Maybe just a soda water.’

He goes to leave, pauses and slowly wheels back towards me. ‘You feeling alright?’

I find myself subconsciously rubbing my elbow. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’m just not drinking much.’

He pokes out his bottom lip, regards me for a second longer. ‘Soda water,’ he says. When he returns with our drinks, he exhales as he sits and the old leather of the seat creaks.

‘I’ll need to head down and clean the house after the last guests since we still haven’t organised a cleaner.’

‘I can help,’ I say. ‘It’d have to be on one of my days off.’

‘No, it’s fine, I can go when you’re working.’

‘Why don’t we just go tomorrow, or after my shift on Thursday, in the afternoon? I could sleep on the way down.’ I don’t want him to resent me for not helping, despite it being his idea.

He shakes his head. ‘I’ve got no work on Thursday. I can go early in the morning and get back before dark. I’m only thinking of you.’

‘Cain,’ I say, reaching for his hand over the table. It’s cool from where he was holding his beer. ‘Let me help.’

‘No,’ he says, with the weight of finality that seems to come much easier to men like my husband than women like me. ‘It’s my project and I don’t want you worrying about anything. It’s easier if I manage it.’

And with that the decision is made. I’m not going to argue when he’s right. The thought of any damage to that house fills my gut with dread, despite the deposit and insurance. I would stress the entire drive down there. He takes a big mouthful of his beer and says, ‘So where exactly is the last place you remember wearing your ring?’

I drink some of my soda water and an air bubble seems to be trapped in my chest. It hurts to swallow. ‘Oh I forgot to mention,’ I say. ‘It actually turned up.’

‘It did?’