I go over to the sink and pick up the duck by the neck. There are some things moving underneath it, and on its side. I give it a rinse under the tap and wash what I suppose are probably maggots down the drain. “Ugh, my god, how long’s it been there for?” Ben asks. His eyes are scrunched up. “God, I can’t stay here,” he says, dramatically, and he starts dressing himself. His body is pleasingly soft-looking and pink. It disappears into the trousers and shirt he was wearing earlier.

“Just go up to your studio, I’ll meet you there in a minute,” I say, and I grab my keys and take the duck outside. It trails some sort of residue all the way.

I knock on Ben’s door. When he answers, I notice that his face looks different from how it did just a few minutes ago. “Hey,” he says, and he lets go of the door so I have to hold it open for myself. He walks to the other side of the studio where his phone is plugged in. He is halfway through composing a text.

“Hey,” I say, and I go up to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t look up. He just keeps typing. I feel him breathe in like he is going to sigh, though he exhales slowly and silently.

“Sorry, do you mind if I—” he says, and he nods toward his phone.

“Oh, yeah . . . sorry.” I take my hand off him. I wonder if it’s the duck smell that’s probably still on my hands. I go to the sink and wash them. When I turn back to Ben, he’s finished sending his text and he is just sitting on the floor, looking vacantly across the room toward a window. He sighs properly now. He’s frowning. He looks tired.

“Is everything okay?” I wipe my hands on my shirt.

Ben shakes his head. “Oh, come on, you know. Anju,” he says.

“Oh, right.” Somehow, I’d forgotten about her—or, rather, I hadn’t forgotten about her, but I’d felt so significant, like I took up all of Ben’s life for a moment, and he’d taken up mine, that Anju had faded into the background. “So, what are you going to do?” I ask. It feels like a stupid question. I kick a pair of Ben’s socks to the side and sit cross-legged on the floor.

“I don’t know. I mean . . . I suppose I should go home,” Ben says. “This was . . .” He shakes his head. His phone lights up. He looks at the screen for a moment and then puts it back down again. “I don’t know . . .”

“Mm.”

“I don’t know, I feel bad . . . We shouldn’t have . . .” Ben sighs, again. “Lydia . . . I really like you . . . but this . . .” he says. “I mean, I don’t want to hurt you, you know?”