In hindsight, the circumstances of that invitation now seemed less than ideal. I liked to think that I had meant well at the time, but my motivation, my hasty assumptions and my stubborn persistence for him to comply did me no credit. I should have taken into account his relaxed manner and warm approach with everyone else and given more thought as to what exactly might have made him so reluctant to engage with the idea of going for a drink that evening. On reflection, it hadn’t been the most auspicious of starts to a workplace relationship, and, like it or not, I had to shoulder some of the responsibility for that.

This evening, he was seated in exactly the same spot, and hunched over his work in exactly the same way as he had been then. The only differences today were that he was wearing a relaxed-fit grey jumper, rather than a fit-to-bursting white shirt, and that I was the one who was weary and rained-upon.

‘Yes?’ He turned suddenly in his chair and looked up at me.

Taken by surprise, I opened my mouth to speak, closed it to swallow and then found myself unable immediately to open it again.

His expression remained neutral as he waited for me to say something. There was no air of patience or impatience about him, no hint of interest, or boredom, or frustration. There was nothing. I merited, it seemed, no reaction whatsoever.

Fair enough. If I were him, I’d have set me to one side too. I’d have placed me way beyond contempt in the of-no-relevance pile.

Despite his apparent lack of eagerness for me to speak, I realised that I had to say something, or I’d never get home and to bed – and I was now desperate to go to bed.

‘I’m not sure what order to say things in,’ I began.

He made no response, but that was OK. There was no need for him to articulate the fact that he couldn’t care less: it was obvious.

‘Do you have time to talk?’ I asked. ‘Here? Or we could go for a drink. Whatever is best.’

‘About windows?’

I frowned, not understanding. ‘About windows?’ I echoed quietly.

‘Do you want to talk about windows and concrete and design in general, so that you can claim to Alison that we are working more collaboratively?’

‘Oh, I see. No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I wanted to talk about what happened on Friday night – at June and Stan’s. I wanted to explain and to apologise. But the thing is,’ I put a hand to my forehead, ‘it’s not just a one-line kind of thing. There’s quite a bit of history and explaining and it’s actually quite difficult…’ I pressed my lips together as I fought an urge to give in to tears, ‘…for me,’ I managed eventually.