She trailed off and Darren felt one of his eyelids twitch. He knew what was coming.

‘Because what?’

‘Because you might think that if you do this for her, that she’ll somehow . . . that she might come back to you.’

He could tell Steph was feeling bad about saying it but it still pissed him off. Sure, she might have been on to something, but did she have to call him out on it like that? This was his problem to deal with alone. And in truth, he was embarrassed that it was that obvious. He’d lost his appreciation for her compassion.

‘Honestly, I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I’d do this for anyone.’

‘You really think that?’

‘Yep. Why the hell not? Blokes donate to sperm banks all the time, what’s the difference?’

‘The difference is that you’re still in love with Charlotte.’

‘You’re mistaking friendship for love.’ He hesitated before moving on to an outright lie. ‘Anyway, I’ve moved on. I’m seeing someone else.’

The corner of Steph’s mouth twitched. ‘Are you?’ she said. ‘Charlotte never mentioned it.’

‘It’s only new.’

‘Well, in that case, don’t you think you need to consult your new girlfriend before you agree to do this?’

‘Not really. Like I said, it’s only early days. She has no claim over my junk.’

Steph leaned back and folded her arms. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Fair enough.’ She paused. ‘Thank you. We do really appreciate this. Both of us.’

Darren softened a little. He could see the relief in her eyes. She wanted this as much as Charlotte did. Now he just hoped she didn’t start asking him a whole heap of questions about the imaginary girl he was supposed to be dating.

*

Jill

Dear Frank,

I’ve made it to Friday. Although Fridays don’t really matter anymore when you’re retired, do they? But still, it’s another week and so it feels like an achievement. Another week of mediocrity. Another week of boredom and loneliness and insomnia. Another week without you.

I’m being dramatic. I’m sorry. Are you sick of me telling you I’m sorry? You probably are. But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how else to make up for it all. I suppose in truth I simply can’t. Nothing can make up for any of it. No amount of Hail Marys. No amount of waffling letters. No number of apologies. But I may as well keep writing. Because what else can I do?

I skipped my Hail Marys this morning. I just couldn’t be bothered. I was too angry. But I will do them tonight before I go to sleep. As many as I can. I’ll chant them until I’m too tired. And then I’ll lie awake with burning eyes and beg for sleep.