‘Neat trick,’ I said, as he offloaded onto the granite surface of the island and sat down. ‘You could be in a circus.’

‘Aren’t I already?’

I frowned, not understanding, but deciding to let it pass. There were more important, less existential, matters to discuss.

‘No Melissa?’ I asked softly.

‘What?’ he stopped pouring milk over his muesli and looked at me blankly.

‘Melissa,’ I repeated in a whisper. ‘Where is she?’

‘At home,’ he said, in an of-course kind of way.

‘Oh, OK. Early bird.’

He picked up his spoon and started to eat. When he still hadn’t spoken after another two mouthfuls, I decided to try again.

‘So, did the two of you have a nice evening? What did you do?’

‘We went to Wilson’s.’

‘And was it good?’

‘The food was delicious,’ he said, not looking up.

‘I’ve never been. I must give it a whirl.’

‘You should.’

‘And how is it going generally? With Melissa, I mean.’

‘She’s a very nice person.’

‘Giles.’ I put down my croissant and waited for him to stop eating and look at me.

‘Yes?’ he asked, frowning. ‘What is it?’

I studied him silently for a moment, remembering what Kerry had said the night before about not recognising him and I now knew exactly what she meant. Even his Arthur Dent dressing gown and his jolly-old slippers couldn’t disguise the transformation. He was toned, handsome and miserable.

‘What is it, Edie?’ he repeated, his tone uncharacteristically impatient.

I reached out and laid my hand gently on his arm. ‘Is everything OK?’

He put down his spoon with a clatter. ‘Everything is perfectly fine. I just want to eat my breakfast.’

‘In peace, you mean? Without the third degree?’

He picked up his spoon, his expression serious. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’

‘No problem,’ I said with faux brightness, removing my hand from his arm and sliding off my stool. ‘I’ll just go and unpack the dishwasher… in complete silence.’

I walked away, taking my breakfast things with me, now feeling as miserable as Giles looked – maybe more so. Because in all the years he and I had been friends, I couldn’t recall us ever once having an argument, and yet I was pretty sure that we were about to have one now.

He finished his muesli and moved on to his croissant, while I put the kettle on the hob for a second cup of tea, and still neither of us spoke. I heard a scratching at the bifold doors and saw Anthony requesting to be let in from the garden. I opened the doors and he scampered in, running straight to Giles, bouncing around the foot of his stool, desperate for acknowledgement but getting precisely nothing. I knew how he felt.