‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘I’m just tired. Over it.’

He stared at me for a long time, like he had no idea what he was looking at, and then he smiled, out of nowhere. ‘That’s lucky, isn’t it?’ He tipped his chin, and when I turned I wasn’t even surprised to see Tom sitting at the end of the bar and lifting a hand to wave.

He waited for me to finish and didn’t even ask if I wanted to go for a drink—although to be fair I didn’t even think of saying no. As I left, Nic told me to have fun and I smiled tightly, still feeling bad for getting angry at him.

‘So what was that I walked in on?’ Tom asked as we headed to the pub.

I shrugged, hands deep in my pockets. ‘Family disagreement. We love each other really. I’m just tired.’

‘Still not sleeping?’

‘I sleep,’ I said, as we reached the pub. Tom held the door open for me and I walked inside. It was warm, too bright. ‘Just not enough. And sometimes Nic is a lot.’

‘He seems nice.’ He let the door close and came up beside me, heading for the bar.

‘He is, I just had an off night.’

The bartender came over and Tom ordered our drinks, remembering mine from last time. I offered to pay, but he brushed me off.

‘Thanks,’ I said, picking up my drink.

‘You’re welcome.’ He smiled, genuine. I couldn’t help but return it. ‘So, what happened?’ he asked, as we claimed a table in the courtyard.

I shook my head, getting my tobacco out and finding a filter. ‘He just expects a lot from me sometimes.’ I touched the filter to my lips twice, then let it rest, pulled out a paper. ‘And I can’t fix everything, you know?’

I didn’t know what I was talking about, or why. Tom nodded, watched me finish rolling my cigarette. My anger had faded—at Nic, at Lina—and I just felt guilty. I put the cigarette in my mouth, picked up my phone and texted Nic a quick apology.

‘Sorry,’ I said, putting my phone away without waiting for a response. ‘I told you—boring and sags in the middle.’

Tom laughed. ‘It’s fine.’

‘So …’ I lit my cigarette, desperate to change the subject. ‘Tell me about this ex.’

He raised an eyebrow, suspicious. ‘Why?’

I shrugged. ‘You were with her for nine years. Obviously there’s a story there.’

‘Yeah, but …’

‘Come on, humour me. I’ve had a crappy night.’

‘It’s not very funny.’ He looked serious, somewhere else.

‘What happened?’ I asked, softening.

He took a breath. ‘Everything was fine. She was—is, probably—great.’ He sighed, wistful. ‘Soph is the whole package. Smart. Funny. Gorgeous.’

I felt a pang. An ache.

He studied his beer, thinking. ‘And then my dad died.’