Marlon looks at me for a moment, concerned. Then he removes a handkerchief from the back pocket of his trousers. The sheer ridiculousness of Marlon owning a handkerchief immediately makes me snort out a laugh, which makes him smile too and raise his eyebrows, and I do stop crying as he methodically wipes my cheeks.

‘Why do you have a handkerchief?’ I ask.

Marlon breaks out into a grin, still gently brushing the thing against my face. ‘Owning a handkerchief is cool now.’

‘Oh. I haven’t been keeping up with current trends’

Marlon laugh. It’s so lovely against the sound of the rain and the low bass of whatever music they’re playing in the living room. ‘Okay, maybe it was a present that I put in my pocket just to prove to my nan that I would actually use it.’ He puts it back into his pocket and then takes my face in both of his hands. ‘And what d’you know? I did use it.’

I smile at him, his hands feeling so warm against my skin. ‘Maybe your nan knows me better than you do.’

‘Are you suggesting that you want to date my nan?’

‘There are so many reasons why I do not want to do that.’

‘Good.’ He hugs me again, his arms reaching round my waist. ‘Thought I had some competition for a minute there.’

‘You don’t have any competition,’ I say, running my hands up to his shoulders, wanting to just stay here forever with him in the porch, live here in the cold with the rain falling next to us, make a bed out of the coats and fire out the coat rack.

‘You smooth little bastard,’ he says, leaning in with a smile and I meet him with a kiss that turns into a longer kiss than either of us planned but everything is suddenly far too nice for it to end. I run a hand through his hair and he pulls my lips against his and our lips brush as he changes direction and, for a brief moment, it actually feels like Christmas.

‘I assume this is the boyfriend, then?’

Marlon and I jolt apart and turn to find that we’ve drawn an audience of at least seven family members of varying ages.

‘Gonna introduce us, mate?’ continues the guy who just spoke – possibly an uncle, or an older cousin.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Marlon replies, still in a daze. He moves behind me and pushes me further into his house, with his hands on my shoulders, towards his family, who seem to be multiplying in numbers as more people walk through the hallway and realise that I’ve arrived.

‘So this is Ben.’