We hang up. And I look back to my closed bedroom door and I know what I have to do. Because, ladies and gentlemen, some patterns never change. Not hers, and not mine either. I tiptoe towards the door so I don’t wake Camilla, reach for the cool handle and twist. And then I move inside. He’s lying on his side. I slip out of my dressing gown, drape it over a chair and get into bed.

He rolls over to hug me. ‘Where were you?’

‘Mum was calling,’ I say, threading my fingers through his and squeezing, then moving towards his face and kissing him on the forehead. ‘She can’t wait to meet you.’

He pulls back just slightly and looks at me. ‘Huh?’

He frowns. His muscles tense up. I make sure I maintain eye contact even though something twists inside me as I see his irises contract.

‘She asked us for lunch. It’s not until twelve though, so lots of time.’ Then I lean across and kiss him on the neck and hold him tight. Too tight. Crazy-girl tight.

‘Wait,’ he says, blinking as if to get his thoughts right, his forehead a deep frown. ‘Why does your mom want to meet me?’

I swallow. This is more painful than I expected. ‘Why would she not want to meet you?’ I ask.

Fear flashes in his eyes. I might miss it if I didn’t know what I was looking for. He pulls away from me just a fraction more and the air beneath the duvet gets cold. His adrenaline is surging now, he’s thinking, How the fuck do I get out of here without upsetting her? A meeting. I’ll say I have a meeting.

I swallow loudly and try to control my breath.

‘Harper?’ he says.

A sadness flows through me as I wait for the inevitable. ‘Yeah?’

He breathes out loudly.

‘Are you fucking with me?’

My throat closes up.

‘No,’ I say. My heart is beating faster now. And his eyes are narrowing. He tilts his head slightly. Then he reaches behind his head for his pillow and hits me with it. ‘You are, you fucker.’

He sits up, feet over his side of the bed as he reaches for his phone and starts scrolling through it and my heart is banging so hard against my ribs.

‘Oh look, my mom wants to meet you too.’ He grins, turning back to me and showing me the screen. ‘You’re a psycho, you know that?’ he says, standing up and pulling on his grey underwear then reaching for my dressing gown.

It’s too small for him, but he puts it on anyway and heads for the door.

And my throat is tight. This isn’t how it was meant to go.

‘Are you leaving?’ I ask, my voice cracking.

‘No such luck. I’m making coffee.’ And then he goes and I’m left staring at the doorway.