‘Jack is with Holly.’ He still wouldn’t look at her.

‘She’ll be using him to get revenge on me.’

‘I think she likes him,’ Roddie said.

Mary realised that he was tapping from thumb to pinkie on the bedside table, counting syllables as he spoke: tick, tick, tick, tick, tick; one, two, three, four, five.

‘I’m a laughing stock. I am so ashamed.’

When he spoke in fives like this, several bad months might follow. Mary considered her next query carefully, as it was up there with ‘Is your period due?’ in terms of the anger it might induce. She decided she had to know and that there was no other way to say it:

‘Have you taken your meds?’

‘Yes, I fucking have.’

Not the answer she hoped for. Medication management would take two days to sort. Never mind, she had all the time in the world, and she would use it all to stop him counting.

She knelt before him and pressed her forehead against his, breathing in through her nose, holding, out through the mouth. Three silent four-seven-eights later and they were breathing in sync.

‘When have I ever lied to you? Apart from about the smoking? And the beard?’

Finally, he looked her in the eye. ‘You lied about loving anal sex.’

She kissed his hand and then his forehead. ‘Every woman lies about that. You smiled. You’ve forgiven me. And guess what you just said, you just said: “You lied about loving anal sex” – nine syllables. And no-one died. Up, I’m taking you home.’

Mary put on her ‘Happy’ playlist as they crossed the Squinty Bridge. Somewhere around Ibrox Stadium, Roddie placed his hand on her lap, causing a surge of peace – who knew peace could surge – and it dawned on her that she had achieved something exceptional.

With their block in view, as well as the twenty or so men and women on the pavement, Mary knew it was time to say ciao to peace for a while. Mary parked some distance away, at the exit to the park. They got out, and she pulled Roddie behind the hedge. ‘Before we head over … Do you remember the video I did for stand-up?’

‘The Prince Philip one?’

‘Christ, no, that was true, but not funny.’

‘Rose West?’

‘Ha ha! Ha ha. No, the me-too one. I emailed it to Fi for notes. And I guess she must have put it on the internet. What a bitch, doing that.’

‘You promised us you’d bin that idea!’

‘I know, but last Thursday Fi was going on about being honest and brave and not holding back and taking risks, and on the weekend I was on a real high and alone, and I pressed “send”. She should never have posted it without my permission.’

‘I bet you’d have given it.’