Maelle and I had a very civilised house in London. We invited people for Sunday lunches at which we made roast chicken with all the trimmings and served up a poached pear tarte for puddings. She had regular care packages sent over from France so there was often a good supply of Rillettes de porc in the fridge, home preserved tuna in oil in kilner jars lurked in our cupboards next to tins of cassoulet and jars of choucroute garnie. I made a point of demonstrating to Jack how much better it was than his life in Leeds which wasn’t quite unfolding as he had hoped. He hadn’t got the Antarctic Survey job, nor had he found anything that really used his degree of Marine Biology. Finally when the landlord asked them to leave, he moved back to London and moved in with Maelle and me. The uncertain times were over. We were together again. I shouldn’t have looked at it like this, and it’s symptomatic of how our relationship was about to develop but in my eyes, I’d won.