I’ve opened that bottle of whiskey I’ve been saving. This seems like as good a time as any. I don’t even particularly like whiskey if I’m honest. I was more saving it because I haven't had the stomach to consume it, not out of any snob value associated with the five-hundred-pound price tag.

I didn’t buy it myself. If I were going to spend that amount of cash on a bottle, it would be wine. No, this was a gift from one of my investors to celebrate me taking over Judd Racing, and it’s the best alcoholic option on hand.

And so, here it lies next to me on the sofa while I rewind the tape and watch Elliott and Florian having a ball this afternoon.

The phone is on the coffee table. I hear it and see the screen light up with a picture of us in the hot-air balloon. It’s not even that long ago, and it scares me how quickly life, and feelings, can change. I’ve been on the physical side of that with my accident and Kyle’s before that. But, this is emotional. Who would have thought I could be so totally alienated from Kyle?

The unanswered phone pings a voicemail. I snatch up the handset and dial into it. Nothing. Kyle doesn’t speak except to sigh against a backdrop noise of...?

He’s in the pub.

Not only have they been out to the rugby match together, but now they’re in the pub afterwards.

I want to tell myself that I’m angry, but even in this state, I know I’m covering my hurt with hot air. My insides curdle, and I wonder for the first time whether this is it for us.

I re-watch the footage, hunting through every minute detail, for what? The chance that I’ll notice something I’ve already missed? Some sliver of hope that my worst fears have not been realized and that I’ve understood all of this wrong? But the film speaks for itself.

You were there, Kyle, damn you. With Florian. And for the second time, you didn’t tell me you were with him. And these are the instances that I know about. How many others are there?

The phone rings again, and again I see Kyle’s face plastered against mine in happier times.

Damn him. “Hello,” I snap.

“Are you drunk?”

“No, are you?”

“Huh? A bit maybe, why?”

“Because you’ve been in a bar, that’s why.” My words bite at him, hoping to cause him as much pain as he’s causing me.

“So, am I not allowed to go out to the pub now?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ignore his question.

“Because I haven’t spoken to you. What’s wrong, El? You called earlier, and you were lovely. Now you are pissed despite what you say and you’re being outright nasty.”

“I am not drunk, but so what if I am?”

He sighs and even that pisses me off. What right does he have to be exasperated with me?

“Elliott did something happen?” He’s softened his tone and is talking deliberately slowly.

“You tell me.” There, take that.

“Look, I’m hanging up. We can speak again in the morning. I don’t understand what is happening here. We’re seesawing around, and it’s no good. You being drunk isn’t helping you make the slightest bit of sense and if we’re not careful this will escalate into a row that we just do not need right now.”

And that’s it. He disconnects the line. And I’m left holding a dead phone to my ear.