All my intentions of lashing out, of screaming at him, of running down the multitude of stairs to freedom, vanish. He taps in the last number and turns to me, glaring with an intensity I feel deep in every part of my soul. He slips out of his jacket and slackens his tie, as he strides into the living room. He pauses at the centre, his hands on his hips, his shoulders squared in the waistcoat he’s wearing. Even under the expensive fabric of his trousers, I clearly see the way his thighs clench and hold him aloof.

Even after all these days of not seeing him, he still manages...