Amy, he wrote. There is no gentle way of saying this so let me at least be clear, so that there is no doubt. I cannot go through with our wedding, and I want to end the relationship because I am not good enough, or certain enough, or happy enough for you.

She had called him that evening, but whether she had found the letter in the morning or later he didn’t know. He didn’t take the call. He turned his phone off, until he’d had two large glasses of wine – and then he called her back.

Her brother answered, and said simply, ‘What are you doing?’

Michael was in his flat, sitting on the bed.

‘Matt,’ he said. ‘Can I speak to Amy?’

‘To say what?’

‘She’s been calling me.’

‘I’ve been calling you. We want to know if what you’ve written is true. If you’re serious.’

‘I’m serious,’ said Michael. ‘It’s all true and I’m afraid I am serious. Can I speak to her?’

‘No.’

There was a silence.

‘You are such a shit,’ said Matthew – and he spoke so quietly that Michael had to press the phone to his ear, and hold his breath. He thought he might have misheard, for he could hear another voice in the background.

‘Pardon?’ he said.

‘You’re a total shit,’ said Matthew.

That’s when Amy took the phone, and Michael knew then that she hadn’t anticipated the letter in any way at all. At once, he panicked. If she hadn’t seen it coming, then perhaps her love for him was real? Perhaps they should be getting married. Perhaps he was wrong, and they did have something worth preserving. Maybe they had more than most people, and everything he couldn’t feel or fake was about to burst into flourishing, nourishing life? He held his ground, though.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know.’

He had nodded, and he nodded on the platform bench – because Matt was right. Matt would have been sitting in his sister’s kitchen, most likely – the two-bedroomed house that Michael had moved into for a little while, and then out of. He shuttled between her place and his own, so he left clothes and personal items there – items he would never see again, because she would get rid of them.

Had that been malicious, or appropriate? Because he had always contributed to the gas and electricity bills. He didn’t help with the water or council tax for some reason, but he had bought things and invested in the relationship that way – even though he had to be so careful with his dwindling, disappearing stack of money. He had less money than she realised, which was another lie: he’d always avoided admitting just how dangerously poor he was.

He had lied about how he came to lose his job.