He’d seen himself sitting at a lathe for a moment, working at the relationship with some kind of specialist tool. Or watering the little flowerpot and feeding the soil in which it grew, and putting it in the sun until finally there were the buds, and there were the flowers of love – blooming small but vivid, because he’d worked at it.

Their relationship was always about the future.

It seemed always to be based on making preparations: they were always getting ready for the wondrous things that lay ahead. Michael would move out of his flat, and move in with Amy properly and permanently. She would carry on part-time work at John Lewis whilst he would set his mind to getting another job – there were so many things he could do, because he was a ‘people person’, and it was time he put his experience at the council properly behind him and tried again. Shy, she said – desperately shy – but interested in others. There were retail outlets. There was driving, perhaps? He had a licence.

A taxi? Or deliveries?

He could work in a school, supporting disaffected children one-to-one.

Meanwhile, they had the kitchen to think about – and yes, he stood on the train still thinking about the infernal kitchen. For he had measured the cupboard doors, and got two different quotes for door replacement. It made no sense to ‘rip the kitchen out’ – which was the violent phrase everyone seemed to use. It made sense to keep the carcasses, because the changes were very straightforward – a tall oven-housing unit where the washing machine currently was, and a couple of extra shelves which could be installed once the fridge had been moved into the little pantry. The kitchen would be transformed.

Gloss white, cream or a colour?

‘Gloss white.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Easier to clean. You see the marks better – not that you’ll be cleaning them!’

‘And the same handles—?’

‘I think we need new handles.’

‘Look at this. They’ll actually pre-drill holes for the handles – that’s worth the extra, I think. But you have to say what handles you’re having.’

‘Nothing too ornate. Nothing pretentious.’

‘Look at these. These are Shaker style.’

‘They’re nice.’

As for worktops, that’s where Amy wanted to spend the money they’d saved elsewhere. They couldn’t justify granite, but real wood was surprisingly affordable, and a carpenter could install them in a day. Michael had begun to dread the completion of the kitchen, because the planning used up so many hours, and the discussions were always so wonderfully focused. There would be the most awful vacuum, unless they moved on to the bathroom.

The worktops had kept them going for days.