‘You haven’t been smoking, have you?’

‘You’ve still got my stash, if you remember. You said you were going to throw it away.’

‘Oh, yes.’ She had completely forgotten. ‘But you slept without it. Last night and the night before.’

‘Mm.’

‘Well, that’s good, right?’

He shrugged.

‘I think the words you were looking for are “Yes, it’s great that I no longer need illegal substances simply to fall asleep.” Right, up you get for a minute. I need you to help me lift a mattress.’ When he didn’t move, she said, ‘I can’t sleep in there with Mr Nicholls. We’ll make another bed on the floor of your room, okay?’

He sighed, but he got up and helped. He didn’t wince any more when he moved, she noticed. On the carpet beside Tanzie’s bed, the mattress left just enough room for them to slide in and out of the door, which now only opened six inches.

‘This is going to be fun if I need the loo in the night.’

‘Go last thing. You’re a big boy.’ She told Nicky to turn off the television at ten so as not to disturb Tanzie, and left them both upstairs.

The candle had long since expired in the stiff evening breeze, and when they could no longer see each other to talk they moved indoors, seating themselves in the corner of the snug as far as possible from Mrs Deakins and the silent men at the bar. They had moved from parents and first jobs onto relationships. Jess told him about Marty and how he had once bought her an extension lead for her birthday, protesting, ‘But you said you needed one!’ In turn, he told her about Lara the Ex and how on her birthday he had once arranged for a chauffeur-driven car to pick her up for a surprise breakfast at a posh hotel with her friends, then spend the morning in Harvey Nichols with a personal shopper and an unlimited budget, and how when he’d met her for lunch she had complained bitterly because he hadn’t taken the whole day off work. Jess thought she’d quite like to slap Lara the Ex quite hard around her overly made-up face (she had invented this face: it was probably more drag-queen than was strictly necessary).

‘Did you have to pay her maintenance?’

‘Didn’t have to but I did. Until she let herself into the apartment and helped herself to my stuff for the third time.’

‘Did you get it back?’

‘It wasn’t worth the hassle. If a screen-print of Mao Tse-tung is that important to her she can have it.’

‘What was it worth?’

‘What?’

‘The painting.’

‘A few grand.’

‘You and I speak different languages, Mr Nicholls.’ She studied him. ‘Have you changed the locks now?’

He shuffled a little awkwardly in his seat. ‘It’s just stuff …’ Jess must have pulled a face, because he said, ‘Okay, then, how much maintenance does your ex pay you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ His eyebrows had lifted to somewhere round his hairline. ‘Nothing at all?’

‘He’s a mess. You can’t punish someone for being a mess.’

‘Even if it means you and the kids have to struggle? You’re right – you and I do speak different languages.’

How could she explain? It had taken her two years to work it out herself. She knew the kids missed him, but she was secretly relieved Marty had gone. She was relieved that she didn’t have to worry about whether he was going to hijack their futures with his next ill-thought-out scheme. She was weary of his black moods and that he was permanently exhausted by the children. Mostly she was tired of never doing anything right. Marty had liked the sixteen-year-old Jess – the wild, impulsive, responsibility-free version. Then he had weighed her down with responsibility and hadn’t liked who had emerged from it. ‘When he’s sorted himself out I’ll make sure he contributes his share again, yes. But we’re okay.’ Jess glanced upstairs to where Nicky and Tanzie were sleeping. ‘I think this will be our turning point. And, besides, you probably won’t understand this, and I know everyone thinks they’re a bit odd, but I’m the lucky one having them. They’re kind and funny. They have ideas about stuff.’ She poured herself another glass of wine and took a gulp. It was definitely getting easier to drink. She just wasn’t sure how much tooth enamel she’d have afterwards.

‘They’re nice kids.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Actually, I realized something today. The last few days have been the first time I can remember where I just got to be with them. Not working, not running around doing housework or shopping or trying to catch up on all the stuff. It’s been nice just hanging out with them, if that doesn’t sound daft.’

‘It doesn’t.’

‘And Nicky’s sleeping. He never sleeps. I’m not sure what you did for him, but he seems …’

‘Oh, we just redressed the balance a little.’

Jess raised her glass. ‘Then one nice thing happened on your birthday – you cheered my boy up.’

‘That was yesterday.’

She thought for a moment. ‘You didn’t vomit once.’

‘Okay. Stop now.’

She could no longer see him properly as they were side by side on the bench but, whether it was just the food, or perhaps the four pints of beer on top of the cocktail, or perhaps even just not having to look her in the eye, Mr Nicholls’s whole body had finally relaxed. He leant back, his long legs stretched out under the table. For some time now one of them had been resting against hers. She had thought fleetingly that she should move it, and hadn’t, and now she couldn’t without it looking as if she was making a point. She felt it, an electric presence, against her bare leg.

She quite liked it.

Because something had happened somewhere between the pie and chips and the last round, and it wasn’t just drink, or being away from everything, or the fact that they were finally so close to their destination. Jess wasn’t quite sure what it was. She wanted Mr Nicholls not to feel angry and hopeless. She wanted to see that big sleepy grin of his, the one that seemed to defuse all the suppressed anger so you could see what he might have been like if all the crap hadn’t happened to him. And when he did unleash one of those smiles it was so joyful and unexpected that she couldn’t help a huge, involuntary grin spreading in answer across her own face. And so they sat, talking quietly, listening to the hum of the television at the bar, the murmured conversation, and periodically grinning like a pair of idiots.

‘You know, I’ve never met anyone like you,’ he said.

He was gazing at the table, apparently deep in thought. Jess had been about to make a joke about cleaners and baristas and staff but instead she just felt this great lurch in the pit of her belly and found herself picturing the taut V of his bare torso in the shower and wondering what it would be like to sleep with him.

The shock of this thought was so great that she nearly said it out loud. I think it would be quite nice to have sex with Mr Nicholls. She looked away and gulped the remaining half-glass of wine, feeling the burn of complaint as it went down.

Mr Nicholls was looking at her. ‘Don’t take offence. I meant it in a good way.’

‘I’m not taking offence.’ Her ears had gone pink.

‘You’re just the most positive person I’ve ever met. You’re practical. You fix stuff. You never seem to feel sorry for yourself. Every obstacle that comes your way, you just scramble over it.’

‘Ripping my trousers and falling over in the process.’

‘But you keep going.’

‘When someone helps me.’

‘Okay. This simile is becoming confusing.’ He took a swig of his beer. ‘I just … wanted to tell you. I know it’s nearly over. But I’ve enjoyed this trip. More than I expected to.’

It was out before she knew what she was saying. ‘Yeah. Me too.’

They sat. He was gazing at her leg. She wondered if he was thinking what she was thinking.

‘Do you know something, Jess?’

‘What?’

‘You’ve stopped fidgeting.’

They looked up at each other and a question passed silently between them. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t. Mr Nicholls had just been a means of moving forward out of an impossible mess. Now all Jess could see were his big dark eyes, the way his hair left his forehead in an impossibly thick, lush line. The hypnotic way his top lip sculpted itself into a tiny cradle.