They had argued over whether they should order one litre of Danish oil to seal them, or two and a half. They had watched a video together on how to cut the hole for a sink, thinking they might do without the carpenter, and thus save two hundred pounds. Michael was worried that his jigsaw wasn’t up to it, though.

‘I could buy new blades, obviously. Or hire a better one.’

‘How much is that? To hire one.’

‘Fifty, probably. Once you’ve paid the VAT.’

‘Would they deliver it? I can’t pick it up—’

‘I’m sure they would, but it’ll be extra.’

‘Still cheaper than the carpenter.’

Michael had nodded, as he nodded now.

‘It’s nesting,’ said Amy, when he’d pointed out how much time they spent looking at catalogues. ‘It’s the most basic human instinct. We’re building a nest.’

He thought, But we have no young. In any case, we have a nest already – birds don’t do what we are doing. We are smothering our fear, Amy. We are still terrified of each other.

He wanted to ask her if they weren’t simply swallowing that horrible propaganda, which asked you to believe that a certain type of kitchen brought happiness. That’s what advertising did, after all – you didn’t need to be clever to see that every advertisement was designed to make you feel inadequate. He had suggested this, and her answer was: ‘I want a nice kitchen. We enjoy cooking.’

They did enjoy cooking.

Cooking was an excuse to open a bottle of wine, and the wine woke up the parts of the brain that said, ‘We are not frightened of anything. When we are drunk, we can even touch one another.’