He hauls himself out of bed, has a quick shave and a shower, and dresses in the first clothes to hand: jeans and a shirt. He dries his short hair roughly with a towel and smooths it down with his fingers.

As Robin goes downstairs, he considers when he last spoke to his best friend: they had met up to celebrate Finn’s birthday in February; he had been talking about a big project he was working on, some weather instrument. Robin hadn’t understood the details, but Finn had been excited. Robin remembers the conditions last night: the rain hurling itself against the window; the wind so strong it felt like it could rip every tile from his roof. The forecasters had told people to stay inside, but Robin knew that was the sort of storm Finn lived for. He hadn’t been out in that, surely?

He looks out of his window now, the weather calm again. His road is littered with twigs and leaves and rubbish, the pavements wet and puddled. The quiet is bizarre in contrast to last night. He had lain in bed in the darkness, listening to the rolls of thunder booming, other-worldly, across the night sky, hoping a tree wouldn’t come through his ceiling. But hours passed and the storm abated; Robin wonders now what new one has begun for Finn.

He puts the kettle on, spooning a generous helping of instant coffee into his travel mug. Caffeine is always the priority; he can grab breakfast later.

As the kettle boils, he stands in the doorway to his living room. His furniture is stacked against one wall, a stepladder leaning against another. Strips of wallpaper dangle from where he was removing it at the weekend. It looks a mess, and he wonders when he’s going to have time to finish. Still, small steps. He feels a grudging swell of pride that he’s actually even started.

Robin makes his coffee then leaves the house, glancing upwards to his roof as he climbs into his faithful Volvo V60. All tiles intact, that’s something, he thinks as he starts the engine, taking a swig of his coffee then resting it in the cup holder. The roads are clear as he heads out, but the residual mess shows the extent of the storm. Broken roof slates lie scattered across the tarmac; fences lean drunkenly against fallen trees; puddles rise into giant waves as his car charges through them. The wind has brought down a power line on one of the main roads and it holds up his progress, waiting patiently for the uniform to wave him through, the yellow-and-blue police car creating a temporary cordon.