‘It was so out of the blue and yet so normal to be chatting to her. I realised how much I’ve missed her, Mario, and I want to call her back. I want to get to know her again.’ And I want to tell her as much as I can, because I have missed her, how very much I have missed her! ‘She was a big part of my life. What do you think?’ She raised her eyebrows, wanting him to engage, to smile, to give her permission to start the dialogue that she had been practising in her head. His coolness sent shivers of inadequacy along her limbs. She folded her shaking hands into her lap, wanting to feel his love.

‘I think do what you’ve got to do.’ He held her gaze.

‘Yes, I’ll give that some thought.’ She took a deep breath and sat forward a little in the chair, her heart racing. ‘Today’s been interesting for me – it’s really made me think about things.’

Mario nodded, as if only half listening. He tapped his fingers together nervously and she decided now was not the time for her great revelation of love, nor the time to come clean about everything, while he seemed so distant, so preoccupied, so angry.

‘So, how . . . how was your day?’ She smiled. He didn’t.

‘Interesting,’ he fired back, holding her stare.

Again her gut jumped. She didn’t like this atmosphere; it felt like punishment. ‘Oh well, interesting is good – better than boring! Why was it?’

Mario sat back in the chair, the slump to his shoulders suggesting that fatigue now overrode any desire to please her or to maintain pristine chair fabric.

‘First, I nearly killed meself driving like a loon to get here this morning, thinking the sky must be falling down.’

Guilt again lanced her chest. ‘I am sorry, Mario. I don’t know how it all got out of hand – one little text, eh?’

‘Yep, one little text.’ Still he studied her face and she felt the colour rise on her chest and neck. ‘Then I worked through my lunch break to try to make up the time I lost in coming home.’

‘I am sorry, Mar—’

‘Yes, so you’ve said. I worked my arse off all day, took a couple of painkillers to try to stop the throbbing in my left shoulder making me want to drop to the floor.’ He rolled the shoulder now and grimaced. Plastering was a job that made no allowance for the wear and tear on ageing joints. ‘A young man’s game,’ Mario called it. ‘And then, just before I left, I stopped by the site office to put my hours in for the week and I chatted to Julie, who does the timesheets – you remember her from the five-a-side barbecue? Her boy, Leon, is our goalie – nice lad, bit slow on the uptake, but massive hands and no fear of hitting the ground.’