You tripped on a plank of wood on your way from the tube, you said. There was thick blood running down your cheek from just above your eye and the geese were arguing about something by the pond. I reached to wipe the dribble of red before it dripped onto your extremely luxurious cream-coloured cashmere jumper that you said you’ll never wash. You were reading the news, you said. What a shit show, you’d thought. And you weren’t paying attention and you tumbled head first into an upturned nail. But you came anyway, because you really wanted to see me.