"I thought you might need a coffee," said Matt.

I tried to gauge his tone but my head hurt too much. I took a deep breath and hauled myself into a sitting position. My head thumped painfully.

"Thanks," I said. I took the mug from him, not daring to look up.

"How are you feeling?"

Was he being sarcastic? I risked a glance. He looked fairly neutral.

"Not too bad," I muttered. "Bit of a headache."

"I'm not surprised."

I thought I'd be able to make a joke of it but I felt so bad, in all ways, that the tears suddenly welled up. I started to cry.

"Oh Matt," I wailed. "I'm sorry. I made such an idiot of myself. I'm so sorry."

He didn't say anything. He didn't make a move towards me. But he didn't turn on his heel and leave. I started stammering out excuses, promises, anything to make him react in the way that I wanted.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry - I don't know how I could have made such a fool of myself." I flung myself back down on the pillows and pushed my wet face against the cool cotton surface of the pillowcase. "I'm sorry."

Still he said nothing.

"I'm sorry, sometimes I just can't cope with things and I know it's not a solution, but I find things really hard sometimes. You know I've been ill and sometimes it just comes back and I can't do anything about it."

Silence still from Matt. I cried a little bit louder. "I'm sorry. It's just - sometimes things are so hard." I wiped my hand under my running nose. “I’m still grieving. I’ve just lost my father.”

I heard him sigh and then the creak of the bed and the dip to the mattress as he sat down beside me. "Maudie..."

I wriggled round to look at him. A small part of me was aghast at presenting my tear and snot-soaked face to him, but if it would get me off the hook, it needed to be done.

"I'm sorry," I said, sniffing.

"I just don't get why you needed to get that drunk," he said. "Did you mean to? Honestly, Maudie, it was a stupid thing to do. Completely childish. You're not a teenager anymore."

"I know,” I said, eyes downcast. "It's just-”

"Just what?"

"Oh, nothing," I said. My voice caught again. "I just - sometimes, it's just too much."

"What is?"

I lay back down again, staring into the white cotton of the pillowcase. "Everything. Angus and Jessica and – everything."

Matt was quiet for a moment.  I heard him draw in a breath. "You can't blame every bit of bad behaviour on what's gone wrong in your life, Maudie," he said. "Sooner or later you have to take responsibility for yourself."

I said nothing. I could feel anger and self-pity sweeping over me in a giant, poisonous rage.

There was a short silence. Then Matt got up off the bed. "I think I'll let you sleep it off," he said. "Then later you can ring Bob and Carla and apologise. Yes, Maudie-" I made a sound of protest. ”That's only fair."

I pushed my face into the pillow, hating him, myself, the world. I heard the door close gently behind him.

Later that evening, when I was lying on the couch and feeling marginally more human – although no less terminally wretched – Matt came back from wherever he’d been. I sat up and tried to smile. He didn’t say anything and he didn’t kiss me. I felt my heart sink. He went to the kitchen and I could hear the clink of bottles.

When I heard him walking towards me, I turned my head. He was holding out a glass of what looked like murky tomato juice.

“Here you go,” he said. “Have a hair of the dog. I think you’ve suffered enough.”

Immediately, I felt ten times better. I reached for the glass and took a sip. He’d made it strong; for a second I felt myself gag as the burn of the vodka hit my poor, abused stomach.

“Thanks,” I said. “I phoned Bob and grovelled.”

“Good,” said Matt. “Well done. I’m sure it’s nothing he’s not seen before; he teaches freshers, for God’s sake.”

I laughed a little, weakly. “Thanks for the drink.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Idiot.”

I laughed again and relaxed back against him as he sat down next to me. I smiled up at him and kissed him. The vodka was making me feel almost normal again. He tightened his arm around my shoulders.

“I shouldn’t have been so hard on you,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot lately, it’s understandable you’re going to react in some way. “

“Thanks,” I said. I snuggled myself more firmly into his arms.

“Just don’t do it again,” he said.

“Of course not,” I said, and laughed lightly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Chapter Ten

Forgiven or not, Matt was stiff with me the following morning. Our breakfast was normally punctuated by the singing of random song lyrics (Matt had a particular fondness for Bob Dylan in the mornings) but today, quietness reigned over the cornflakes. I kissed him goodbye at the front door and he kissed me back, but  with lips that did not yield.

Alone in the flat, I mooched around, picking up a magazine and dropping it again, collapsing on the sofa and then getting back onto my feet. I looked at the clock; eleven am, surely not too early for a gin and tonic? A pre-lunch aperitif? I gathered together a few bills and shuffled them about on the desk, swigging at my drink. God, I hated paperwork. I was bored again, bored and restless. Stupidly I thought that perhaps I should think about getting a job. Then I remembered the money that would soon be ours and told myself not to be so ridiculous.

The G&T went down so nicely I poured myself another. The telephone rang as I was flicking through the television channels, in the faint hope I might find something worth watching. Mr. Fenwick’s dry, correct voice greeted me as I picked up the handset.

“It’s the estate, my dear,” he said after the preliminary pleasantries. “I’m so sorry to bother you but we really do have to have a think about what we’re going to do with it.”

“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t think – I mean, I know I have to decide what to do about the house and so forth.”

“Indeed. You’ll have to decide whether you want to keep it, perhaps rent it out, or sell it. Mrs. Green will want to know if her services are required, plus there’s the casual staff and so forth.”

“Yes,” I said again, hesitating. I didn’t want to think about it, any of it. “Perhaps – perhaps I might take a trip up there and see if I can help – I mean, I can decide what to do.”

“I think that’s a fine idea, Maudie. Oh, I am sorry to have to pressure you but really, I think it should be your decision, yours and Matthew’s, of course. If I thought Matthew would be happy to take charge – do you think he would?”

I answered without pause. “Oh no, Mr. Fenwick, he’s far too busy at the moment. I’ll be fine, I can do it.”

“Well, that’s marvellous then, Maudie, as long as you think it won’t be too much for you. Perhaps you could give me a call when you get back to London?”

After I put the receiver down, I sat for a moment, staring out of the window at a grey-skied winter day. I had no idea what to do about the house, or the staff. I wanted to ask Matt his advice, but I thought it might be better to present myself as capable and able to take care of myself; to reassure him after my behaviour at the restaurant and at the party. I decided to present him with a fait accompli.

“I’m heading up to Caernaven tomorrow,” I said to him over dinner.

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Why’s that?”

I told him of Mr. Fenwick’s telephone call.