Romy felt a pang of guilt, remembering her talk with the man at Michael’s birthday tea, a couple of weeks back. He’d made no attempt to lure her to lunch since then. ‘What did he want?’ she asked.

‘Basically,’ Michael replied, ‘he wanted to know if I thought I’d ever come back to chambers. If I’d ever work again.’

‘Right. So what did you say?’

He looked at her as if she were being disingenuous. ‘I said I’d be up and running, ready to take on the world by Christmas, no problem.’

Four months, she calculated, alarmed. ‘Do you think –’

‘Joke,’ he cut her off tersely. ‘Of course I didn’t bloody say that. For Christ’s sake, look at me, Romy.’ He shrugged. ‘Imagine me standing up in court, for starters.’ He shook his head. ‘Then imagine me wading through a two-box brief overnight.’ Another weary shake of the head. ‘And, finally, imagine me putting together a coherent argument for my client against some of the sharpest minds in the land.’ This time he didn’t bother to shake his head, just gave her a level glance that said it all.

‘You don’t know what you’ll be like by Christmas,’ she said.

Michael didn’t reply. He pushed his chair back and reached for his crutch. Then he turned back to her. ‘Go home, Romy,’ he said dully. ‘You’ve done your bit.’

She stared at him.

‘I’m fine on my own. You can stop looking for another bloody carer.’ He glared at her defiantly. ‘I may still be clumsy, but I’m perfectly capable of ordering food online. The surgery will drop off my pills. I can just about work the microwave, put stuff in the washing machine, shower and dress myself. It all takes me for ever, but I can do it.’ He paused only to gather breath. ‘I haven’t told you, because she didn’t confirm until tonight, but I’ve asked Theresa to come in for a couple of hours five mornings a week. So,’ he added, almost nonchalantly, ‘I don’t need you or anybody else any more.’

Romy didn’t reply. This is just bravado, she thought, although she was surprised he’d been so proactive with Theresa. She’d known from Leo – weeks ago – that Michael didn’t want her being responsible for his care after Daniel left, but now he was suggesting managing almost completely on his own. Was he really ready? If she’d thought he was, she’d already have gone.

‘Leave,’ he went on, a martyrish note creeping into his voice. ‘Go and find your brigadier, make it up to him. Get on with your life, Romy, while you still can.’

She frowned. Then she grinned. Michael looked offended. ‘Another gold star for melodrama,’ she said. ‘Chart’s filling up.’

‘I meant every word,’ he insisted, piqued.