I grab my phone from the bathroom floor and look at the time. Eight p.m. on the dot. Sinking back into the warm bathwater, I wish that just for once Connor and I could have a takeaway or dinner in front of the TV. It’s been a really tough week at work. The campaign for Mulberry Moment, the new Luna London lip shade for winter, is in full swing and my days have been wall-to-wall meetings from 8 a.m. to 7 p.m.

Tonight is Friday night and all I want to do, when I get out of this bath, is curl up on the sofa with something trashy on the TV and something equally junk-like on my plate: a slice of cheese on toast or a bowl of Frosties with milk. However, I know that won’t happen as Connor is a stickler for both routine and for sitting round the table to eat. At 8 p.m. Every evening.

This is one of the things I have learned about him since moving in, along with the fact that he is obsessively clean, with a box and a label and a place for everything. No more throwing my clothes on to the bedroom floor or letting the laundry basket overflow. I found in the first couple of weeks that when I did that, the item in question would be magically put on a hanger and the washing machine would be on overdrive until the laundry basket emptied.

‘I’m sorry,’ Connor had said, when I caught him putting my trainers neatly away on the shoe rack one morning. ‘I know I’m a bit anal but it’s just the way I was brought up. When Dad left, Mum made sure I did my share of the housework.’

It had made me feel bad when I saw him folding up my clothes and putting my paperwork into neat piles. I’d worried that he would regret my moving in with him, that I had somehow intruded on his nicely ordered flat, trailing mess and chaos in my wake. But after a few weeks I started to take on some of his habits too. I like the fact that if I choose which outfit to wear for work the next day and lay it out the night before, then I will have more time to spend in bed with Connor in the morning, rather than rushing around like a headless chicken, looking for my shoes and bag and phone. I feel more composed, more in control. He’s made me become a better version of myself.

‘Vanessa, it’s getting cold.’

Connor’s voice trails up the passageway. With some reluctance, I get out of the bath and dry myself with a soft white towel.

‘I’ll be two minutes,’ I call as I head into the bedroom.