hands meticulously like a surgeon and my stomach lets out a sigh of relief that food preparation is imminent. I’m starving. ‘I just got us some pasta and sauce.’ My heart sinks a little. It’s not as if I’d expected him to have morphed into James Martin overnight, but when he’d suggested a night in with him cooking, I imagined him slaving lovingly over the stove. We always go out for dinner on a Saturday night to some
