‘Nothing happened with Moira Giddings.’ The words erupted as a roar – from somewhere deep in his gut – and her entire body recoiled. ‘Sorry, Heidi, I…’

She used the bag as a shield, turning her back on him as she threaded the straps over her shoulders. ‘The truth is, Lucas,’ she said tightly, ‘there are grey areas in the world, but you are not very good – not willing to acknowledge them.’

‘Are we back to God, by any chance?’ He put the question jauntily, as if they were having one of their early, lovely, big, free-ranging discussions.

‘No, I am not talking about God.’

‘Apologies. You will forgive me for having trouble following your line – or should I say lines – of thought.’

‘Now you are being cruel.’

‘Me cruel?’

‘I think I had better go, Lucas. Give you some space…’

‘Aha, yes,’ he cried as she dodged round him, heading for the door. ‘Space. That elusive substance that used to be so straightforward. Now no one can get enough of it.’

‘I cannot talk to you like this.’ She gripped the door handle and he ran at her, flailing, in a bid to get hold of some bit of her to prevent her leaving.

‘No, Lucas.’ She fought him off, slapping the air and his arms. ‘I am going. I need to be alone. To think. About us.’

‘Heidi, wait…’ He tried harder, attempting to block the doorway this time, but she pushed past onto the landing.

‘In four weeks, term will have finished, Lucas. I shall return to my family for Christmas. Alone. I shall decide what to do.’

‘What to do?’

‘Whether to marry you.’ She was almost at the lip of the main staircase, and tossed the words back at him, so softly that for a nanosecond he thought – hoped – he might have misheard.

‘But I love you,’ he began, only for the words to be drowned out by the receding patter of her footsteps.

Still in the doorway, Lucas fumbled his phone out of his tracksuit pocket and called her. When she didn’t pick up, he left an apologetic pleading message for her to ring. When no call came, he sent a text, and then a WhatsApp. Retreating back inside, he sat on the sofa and tried the same sequence again, and again, and again. She would ring, eventually, if he tried hard enough, for long enough. Showed how much he cared. As the silence continued, he laboured over an email, crafting and recrafting the words of love, remorse and need. He was good with words. They would heal the rift, surely.