‘Do you have to fetch it tonight?’ It was a silly question. Nan might need her. Call her. I began to tug the seatbelt back across my body.

‘No point you coming with me,’ Mum said. ‘Go in and have a bath or something.’

‘It’s okay. I’ll keep you company.’

‘No, Anna.’ That sharp tone again. She couldn’t look me in the eye. ‘Go inside.’

Worried, I did as I was told, clearly the child again, trying not to read too much into it. We all needed space sometimes but it felt like everyone needed space from me right now: Mum, Adam.

I slipped my key into the lock and pushed open the front door. The hallway smelled of garlic and I cast my mind back to last night, trying to remember what we’d eaten. Mentally scanning the contents of the fridge, wondering if I could pull together some sort of meal before Mum came home. Exhausted, I kicked off my shoes and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

And there he was.

Adam.

Candles flickering on the table. A vase of pale pink roses set between Mum’s best china plates.

He stepped towards me and I took a step backwards. He’d ignored me for days and now… this. Whatever this was.

‘I don’t… I… How did you…’ I licked my dry lips. I’d lost the fundamental ability to speak.

‘Your mum left me a key.’ He wiped his hands down the front of his apron. He seemed nervous.

‘She’ll be back in a minute.’ My eyes scanned the two placemats.

‘No, she won’t. She’s staying at your nan’s tonight.’

‘Why?’

‘To give us time. To talk. I’ve made paella. I measured out the rice and everything. I’m afraid it’s lemon meringue pie for dessert though. Limoncello and plum tart was a bit beyond my limited capability.’ He flashed a smile but I didn’t return it. He’d hurt me and I felt betrayed by both him and Mum, going behind my back like this.

He pulled out a chair, its legs scraping against the kitchen floor, and gestured at me to sit. I sank heavily onto its wooden seat, automatically taking a drink from the glass he pushed into my hand. Sangria, of course. I set it down and filled a glass with water instead.

Wordlessly he served up the food. Vibrant yellow rice and pale pink prawns. I took a mouthful but it stuck in my throat along with all the questions I wanted to ask. I set down my fork and he did the same.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

My chest tightened. What was he sorry for? Ignoring me? Or something else. There had to be a reason he’d been rejecting my calls. He spoke.

‘I can’t keep doing this. This travelling back and forth. Snatching time when we can. The lack of our own space.’