The kettle clicks and I get up and head back into the kitchen, thinking how complete this day would be if Mum were here to share it. If she could see me, her little nervous, shy Vanessa, happy, with a great job, good friends and a man she loves. How perfect would that be?

I close the door, shutting out the memories of my mother, for it does me no good to dwell on them, only makes me ache for her. I make two big mugs of coffee and take them to the bedroom. When I place Connor’s mug on the bedside table he opens his eyes and smiles.

‘You shouldn’t be making the coffee, not on your birthday,’ he says, pulling me down on top of him. ‘That should be my job. You’ll have to let me do something for you.’

‘I can think of one thing,’ I say, kissing him gently on the cheek and feeling him harden beneath me.

He sits up, takes my face between his hands and kisses me deeply. Almost three months in, it still feels like the first time when he kisses me.

Afterwards we lie in each other’s arms, warm, content, neither of us wanting to get up and break the spell.

‘I wish you could stay here today,’ he says, stroking my hair with his fingers.

‘I know,’ I sigh, nuzzling the soft fuzz of his chest hair, inhaling his musky scent. ‘But the birthday lunch with Georgie and Lottie is a bit of a tradition. They like to make a fuss.’

Connor is quiet but I can feel his chest rising and falling. Every part of me wants to stay in bed with him, to chat, have a lazy brunch, make love, watch a film. Time seems to go so fast when we’re together. Morning comes too soon.

‘I think Lottie’s getting a bit pissed off that I’m not spending much time at the flat,’ I say, recalling her curt comment of, ‘Oh, hello. I thought you were a burglar,’ when she walked into the kitchen and saw me having breakfast last week. She’s been making comments like that almost every time I’ve seen her recently.

‘That’s rather childish of her,’ says Connor, stroking my hair. ‘Don’t feel bad. You’re allowed to have other people in your life besides Lottie, you know.’

‘I know. Anyway, thankfully, it’s only lunch,’ I say, sitting up. ‘It’ll be three, four hours max.’

‘Don’t worry, baby,’ he says, leaning back and watching me as I get out of bed and take the dressing gown from the floor where I dropped it earlier. ‘Of course they want to see you. It’s your birthday. It would be selfish of me to want you all to myself. Anyway, it’ll give me a few hours to get everything ready.’