Stuart knocked on my door when he came up the stairs from work. I considered ignoring it, the way I’d ignored it the first time he knocked on my flat door, months and months ago.

‘Hi,’ I said.

He looked tired. ‘You coming upstairs?’

‘No, I’ve got some work to do. I’m going to do that, then have an early night. Do you mind? I didn’t get much sleep last night. And you look just about done in.’

‘I am quite tired. Just come up for dinner. Just for an hour. Please?’

I contemplated this for a moment.

‘I’ve got lamb fillet. I was going to do some kebabs with lemon and cumin, and rice.’

I relented. He let me have five minutes to lock up. When I went up to the top flat he was already skewering bits of lamb.

‘I rang the management company,’ he said.

‘Oh, yes?’ I got some wine out of the fridge and the bottle opener from the cutlery drawer.

‘They were going to send someone round to fix the glass in the flat downstairs, and sort out the lock.’

‘I think they must have been. There’s a load of sawdust on the floor by the door to the flat. Maybe they’ve put on a mortise or something.’

He turned on the grill. Already it was smelling good, garlic and spices and lemon. ‘They asked me how Mrs Mackenzie is.’

‘Haven’t they been to check on her?’

He shrugged. ‘Didn’t sound like it. I rang up the ward after I’d spoken to them. No change. I don’t think they’ve got high hopes for her. And they’ve still not managed to track down a next of kin.’

‘Poor Mrs Mackenzie. I’ll go and see her next week.’

We sat down to eat.

‘We should go somewhere again, now the weather’s warmer,’ he said, chewing.

‘Go somewhere?’

‘For a weekend or something. Just to get away from it all.’

‘This is yummy,’ I said.

‘We could go to Aberdeen. Or Brighton – we could go and have a weekend in Brighton, what do you think?’

I didn’t answer.

He stopped chewing and watched me, drinking from his wineglass. He was looking at me in that psychologist’s way he had: reserved, concerned, curious.

‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘I’ve got such a lot on at the moment with work. I need to go through all those employment contracts with Caroline, and then there’s the therapy with Alistair, and I wanted to think about decorating the flat – ’

‘Hey,’ he said quietly, interrupting. ‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’

‘Stop pushing me away.’

‘I’m not. I’m not pushing you away, I’m just really busy, and – ’

‘Stop pushing me away.’

I’d made the mistake of catching his eye, and I was lost. I stared at him, cross at first, just for a moment, and then melting. I didn’t want to do this on my own. I didn’t want to do it all without him.

‘The door, Mrs Mackenzie’s door…’

‘What about it?’ he asked, reaching for my hand.

‘I thought last night – you thought I did it. You thought I left it open on purpose. Didn’t you?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘It felt like you didn’t believe me.’

‘I do believe you, Cathy.’

‘Someone tried to break in. Downstairs. That’s why the glass was broken.’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Why did you say it was the fox?’

‘I didn’t say the fox broke the window.’

He was right – he hadn’t actually said anything of the kind.

‘Why aren’t you worried? Someone might have been inside the flat.’

He shrugged. ‘Cathy, we live in London. Break-ins happen all the time. I got burgled when I was in Hampstead. My car got nicked two years ago, I never got it back. Ralph got mugged in Hyde Park once. This sort of thing happens all the time. It doesn’t have anything to do with Lee.’

‘But – ’

‘And whoever it was who broke the window, there was no sign of them getting in. The back door was still shut and locked.’

‘The flat door was open!’

‘You and I both know that latch wasn’t exactly reliable. The draught from the broken pane probably blew it open.’

I bit my lip. This wasn’t going anywhere.

‘It’s not Lee, Cathy,’ he said, gently. ‘He’s not here. It’s just you and me. Alright?’

I cleared the plates away. While I was rinsing them and putting them in the dishwasher, I felt misery and general exhaustion. He stopped me, took the plate carefully from my soapy hand, made me turn to him. He tilted my chin up so I was looking at him, at his eyes.

‘I love you,’ he said. ‘And I’m so proud of you. You’re brave and strong and bold. You’re braver than you think you are.’

The tears chased each other down my hot cheeks. He kissed them away. He held me and rocked me gently, and after a while I forgot all about going downstairs to do the work that I’d pretended I had to finish. I forgot all about the broken glass, and the sawdust on the floor, and the draught of cold that blew around my ankles. I forgot about everything except him, Stuart, and the warmth of his hands on my skin.