I unfolded the sofa bed for Jessica. It was not made up, having never been used, and the springs squeaked with surprise. I had to move some of my stacks of files to pull the mattress all the way down. Undone work reproached me from the grey boxes. I heard the mournful wail of a siren in the distance. I smiled at the sound. It was not merely a portent of disaster, but the sound of someone taking responsibility, taking the first steps towards making something right. I retrieved fresh bedclothes from the cupboard, and I was happy to have someone else to tuck in the other side of the sheet. She unzipped her holdall and took out her washbag. I showed her to my bathroom. I kept an extra stash of toiletries, toothbrushes, toothpaste, combs and conditioner for my female guests, and I told her she could take anything she needed whilst I finished off the pillow cases. I was unused to having a woman in my flat who was not entirely sexually accessible, and it made me perform every action with an exaggerated formality. I gave her a wide berth when she came in from the bathroom, pressing myself against the bookcase to allow her to walk around the bed. She sensed my awkwardness. I offered her a T-shirt to sleep in, and she took it. She pulled off my jumper in front of me, possessing the centre of the room with the challenge of her bare white stomach. She stripped down to her bra, two simple cream cups holding her breasts. She lowered her trousers with no shame, kicking them off with the freedom of a woman preparing to dive into the sea. I did not want to notice it, but I found myself thinking how well she had kept her figure. She lifted the duvet up at the corner and slid between the sheets. I heard the sound her skin made against the material, a whisper like wind in long grass.

‘Was there something else you wanted?’ she asked me, her eyebrows raised in mock innocence.

I grinned at her and gave her the finger. Before I left the room, I turned back on the threshold and asked her a question. ‘Jessica,’ I said, ‘how much money do you have?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. About fifty. Why?’

‘That’s not what I meant. How much money do you have total? You know, savings, current account, credit card, any shares?’

She looked at me with an uneasy smile and propped herself up on her elbow under the covers. ‘Why do you want to know? Are you going to give me some investment tips?’

‘Humour me.’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe a little over sixty thousand. I was saving for the deposit on a house, but I never really seemed to find anything I liked. Ditto car. Why, how much have you got, big-shot lawyer?’

I did not need to think about it. I knew exactly. ‘Seven hundred and sixty-five thousand.’