I took a deep breath. ‘Pete, I realise this is a bit of a shock. Perhaps I should’ve told you first, but I wanted you to meet Samantha…’ My voice wobbled. ‘Please don’t judge her – us – until you know her better. I’m so happy, Pete, honestly. I’ve never been happier.’

Pete looked me in the face. Suddenly, and for the first time, he seemed so much older than me. There was sadness as well as anger in his eyes.

‘Yeah, you really look it right now.’

Samantha lunged for him then, eyes narrowed, cigarette still in the corner of her mouth. I had to put my arms round her waist from behind and drag her away from him, kicking and screaming so loudly that Webbo and Marsh appeared in the doorway, their eyes bloodshot and their movements sluggish.

‘What’s going on?’

Samantha wrestled her way out of my grip, grabbed her still-full rucksack and pushed past the boys. ‘I’m gonna leave you children to it,’ she said coldly. ‘Seeya, Meredith. It’s been real, but I’ve got more important things to do with my life.’

I was reeling. Surely she couldn’t mean what it sounded like she meant?

‘Samantha! Stay. Please!’ I moved towards her, but Pete held my forearm, then hugged me so tightly that I couldn’t extricate myself before I heard the bang of the front door.

Samantha was gone.

Webbo and Marsh sloped away, leaving Pete to deal with me. He tried to comfort me, but I was too drunk and distraught, and I lashed out at him.

‘This is your fault! You wound her up and now she’s gone!’

‘Mez, if that’s how easily wound-up she gets, you don’t want to hang around with her.’

I made furious speech marks with my fingers. ‘I don’t “hang around” with her. We were – are – in a relationship! Why is that so hard for you to accept? We’ve been together for over a year!’

I refused to allow myself to consider that Samantha had been AWOL for at least three-quarters of this time.

Pete slumped back on my mattress, looking utterly shell-shocked. It was a surprise, for both of us – we almost never argued. But at that moment I wanted to punish him, make him feel the same pain I was feeling. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes but I couldn’t tell if he was crying. Even in my fury, I hoped not. I’d never seen him cry, not since we were little kids. He hadn’t even cried at Dad’s funeral.