‘I lied to you,’ I blurt out, ‘about why we left London.’ And then I tell him everything, about the phone hacking and Wayne Walker and his threats and how I think he – or someone – may be following me now.

His eyes widen and he swallows. ‘You got sacked?’

‘I was lucky I didn’t get arrested,’ I say, putting my fork down.

‘So we left London and my job – which I loved – so that you could run away?’ He puts his fork down, too.

‘More of a fresh start,’ I mutter. ‘Not running away. As such.’

‘And this Wayne guy? You think he’s followed you here?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘I feel like I’m being followed.’

He leans back in his chair. ‘Jesus. Phone hacking. What were you thinking?’ And there it is. That look. The look I’ve been dreading. He’s seeing me for who I really am. He’s not going to want to marry me, or have babies with me, or any of the other things he’s planned and I feel … relieved.

‘It’s better that you know now … who I really am.’

His frown deepens. ‘What are you talking about? You’re not a bloody murderer. You made a mistake. Wayne Walker should never have threatened you like that anyway, regardless.’

‘But I lied.’

‘I know. And it makes me feel sad that you weren’t honest with me at the time. But, Jess, why are you telling me this now?’ And then it dawns on him. He’s not stupid, my Rory. ‘You’ve found the ring, haven’t you?’

That sodding ring. The antique ruby ring I’d stupidly admired in that boutique in Clifton during the summer. Ever since I found it nestled in his underwear drawer a few weeks ago, I’ve been waiting for the proposal. And I’m just not ready. I’m not ready to settle down and become somebody’s wife. Why can’t things stay as they are?

‘I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for some socks.’ He knows I’m always stealing his socks, even if they are too big, as one of mine always seems to go missing.

He pushes his plate away. He’s lost the colour in his face. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me as though wondering who I am. I look away, unable to witness the pain I see in his eyes. Eventually he asks, ‘Don’t you want to be with me any more?’

My stomach twists. ‘Of course I do. I love you. I just …’

‘You don’t want to get married to me?’

Tears spring to my eyes. ‘Just not yet.’

He sighs. ‘Jess. We’ve been together for nearly three years. We’ve been living together for two.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m thirty-four. I want kids. Lots of kids. I want to move back to Ireland eventually. I thought you wanted all that, too.’