I hang my head.

‘What are you so afraid of?’

My head shoots up. ‘Nothing.’ I clench my fists in my lap. ‘I’m not afraid of anything. It’s just moving too fast. Okay. We live together, don’t we? We haven’t even bought our own place yet. We’re not in a position to get married. Financially.’

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, but then, ‘We could afford to buy our own place in Ireland. That’s why we’re living here practically rent-free. So we can save.’

Ireland again. This is his dream. Not mine. And then what? He’ll saddle me with a couple of kids and do a runner, like my dad, leaving me to bring them up on my own. In a country I’m not familiar with. Away from my friends and family. Not that I’ve got much family … or that many friends left. I gulp.

He reaches across the table, as though reading my mind. ‘I’m not your dad, Jess.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I know that.’

‘I don’t think you do,’ he mumbles, getting up from the table and taking our plates to the sink.

I sit there for a while, staring at the half-drunk bottle of wine on the table. The lights twinkle in the distance, reflecting in the dark, undulating river. I feel as if I’m at a crossroads in my life – I was at the same point a year ago when we moved from London. But I didn’t want to face it then. I wanted Rory. I still want him, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for marriage and kids. I look across at him in the kitchen. He’s standing staring at the kettle as if wondering what it does and my heart sinks. I should go to him, reassure him, tell him how much I want to make our relationship work. He bought me a ring because I said I loved it. This funny, sexy, kind man wants to spend the rest of his life with me. Me. And I’m scared. Rory was right about that.

Rory turns to me, the hurt still in his eyes. He looks like someone’s kicked him in the stomach. ‘I’m going for a drink,’ he says, moving towards the hall for his coat.

I get up from the table and follow him. ‘On your own?’ Rory never drinks alone.