‘So this is great,’ I said, looking around at her furniture covered in plastic sheeting, at paint and tools and unpacked boxes. ‘What do you do when you want to relax? Paint sitting down? Lie down to varnish the floorboards?’

She put her head in her hands. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘What have I done?’

Just what she always did. Inflicted something exhausting on herself. Deferred immediate comfort for future comfort. Tried to correct the balance, to even the score. Behaved responsibly.

‘I’m so tired,’ she said.

‘Go to sleep,’ I said.

‘I can’t. There’s so much to do.’

‘Let me do it.’

‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’

‘Just tell me what to do. I can do it.’

With reluctance and some gratitude she went to bed and I carried on painting. The windows were open and the street was quiet outside, except for the rattle of a magpie. My painting arm grew heavy. After an hour the acupuncturist knocked on the glass.

I let him in. ‘How was your friend?’ I asked.

‘Fine,’ he said.

‘Where does he live?’ I said.

‘She,’ he said. ‘Lauren. Streatham.’

‘An old friend.’

‘An old friend, exactly.’

I looked at him.

‘This is a bit weird,’ he said. ‘I feel like you’re a disapproving father I need to make like me.’

‘Sorry. I don’t disapprove. I’m just interested in you, in a suspicious way.’

‘Suspicious.’

‘Just in a brotherly way. Let’s put the radio on. Maybe I should get us a couple of beers to have while we work?’

I got us a four-pack from the local corner shop and we listened to Gilles Peterson’s show while stripping wallpaper and painting.

‘Amy says you work in a bookshop,’ he said.

‘For a few more days.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘I’ve got a new job starting soon.’ I heard the words ‘digital marketing’ come up my throat with thick inverted commas round them.

‘That’s good?’ he said.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It could be an awful mistake. But you probably have to make some mistakes to stop yourself from making other mistakes.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That’s what I’ve been thinking recently too.’

By the time we’d finished the beers we’d transformed the long hallway and living room into a clean white space, and revealed wooden floorboards that would look good when sanded and polished. We took a break and he came outside into the garden to talk to me while I smoked.

Later, as the light began to fade and we carried on working, Amy opened the door of the bedroom she had gone to sleep in and pulled her head back in shock at the work we’d managed to get done.

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

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‌Eighteen