Despite my self-enforced rule not to drink during the week I’d been so freaked out by discovering someone had been outside my front door that I opened a bottle of wine and drank the lot. I must have staggered in here and collapsed in a heap on the bed. I’d wanted to blot everything out: the fear, the loneliness, the fact someone’s watching me.

I get up and go into the kitchen, hoping that maybe Rory fell asleep on the sofa. But it’s all just as I left it yesterday.

I check my phone, but nothing from Rory. What if something’s happened to him?

I click the kettle on, then stand in the kitchen and call Rory on my mobile. Eventually I hear a raspy ‘Hello?’

‘Rory. It’s me. Where are you? Are you okay?’

There’s a rustling sound, as though he’s getting out of bed. ‘Yeah. Sorry. Ian said I could stay at his so that I could have a few drinks.’

My stomach lurches. We’ve been together for nearly three years and he’s never stayed out without letting me know. ‘Why didn’t you ring me?’ It’s not like Rory to play games.

He sighs. ‘I thought you’d be busy. We never see each other much anyway. You’re always out.’

‘That’s not true,’ I say, hurt. My mobile feels hot against my ear.

‘You’re in Tilby a lot …’ The words ‘with Margot’ are left unsaid but I know he’s thinking them. He clears his throat. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I should have called. I’m angry with you and I’m trying to punish you.’

Typical Rory, telling me how it is. Despite myself I can’t help a small sad smile. I nod, even though he can’t see me.

‘But that’s not going to get us anywhere, is it?’ His voice is tinged with regret.

‘No,’ I say quietly.

‘I’m teaching all week in Hanham. But I’ll be home at six. Okay. Then we can talk. Properly.’ This is more like the Rory I know and love. The Rory who always has to find a solution, who hates going to bed on an argument, who prefers to clear the air. He’s not the type to mooch about for a week in a mood, refusing to discuss our problems. Unlike me.

‘Okay, that would be good,’ I say, closing my eyes, relief flooding through me. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’ The phone goes dead, but I leave it pressed to my ear for a couple of seconds anyway, listening to nothing.

I met Rory at a party in Hammersmith. I had just turned twenty-nine and was still reeling from the breakdown of my first serious long-term relationship. I hadn’t planned on meeting anyone that night. I had sworn off men.