‘Hi, I was just wondering where you are and what you are up to,’ I say, trying to sound as friendly and non-naggy as I’m able.

‘Hey, Fern-girl. I’m coming right back to you.’

‘Are you?’ A rush of excitement floods into my stomach, pushing aside the irritation I’ve felt all evening.

‘Yup.’

The doorbell rings. ‘Hang on, someone is at the door, hold the line,’ I say.

I open the door and Adam is stood facing me, holding his phone to his ear and grinning.

‘Lost my key,’ he says as he snaps closed his mobile and then briefly kisses me on the forehead.

‘Lost or forgotten?’ I demand. The rush of excitement at seeing him is instantly drowned by a fresh flash of irritation. Living with him is a bit like sitting in a ducking chair. Oh, I can breathe; everything is going to be fine. No, I’m under water once more. I’m going to drown. If he’s lost his key again then we’ll have to pay for the locks to be changed for the second time in six months. It’s such an unnecessary expense, all that’s required is a little thought. But, if he’s simply forgotten to take it out with him I’ll be just as irritated. I mean, it’s not rocket science, is it? You go out, you come in again, to do that you need a key, put key in pocket.

Adam shrugs. ‘Think they are in my other jeans.’

‘I hope so,’ I mutter as I head for our bedroom to

I’m taken aback because I find Adam serving up a Chinese takeaway. From the smell of it I think I can guess that he’s brought me king prawn foo yung with egg fried rice – my favourite.

‘Have you eaten? I figured not, as there’s no food in the flat, so I thought we’d go wild, Fern-girl. I’ve even bought a side of prawn crackers.’

Adam doesn’t often demonstrate this level of planning so I don’t grumble about the keys; I simply slip them down on to the counter next to his wallet.