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mock-slapped me. ‘Watch it. So, anyway, you didn’t answer my question. About why you don’t have a girlfriend.’
    ‘Oh. Well, I did have one until about nine months ago. We were together for a couple of years.’
    The hand that had been drawing spirals on my flesh stopped moving. ‘What was her name?’
    ‘Harriet.’
    ‘Harriet! Posh.’
    I stroked Charlie’s shoulder. ‘She was a little bit posh, yes.’
    ‘Did she have a pony?’
    ‘As a matter of fact . . . When she was a kid, anyway. I think she had a couple.’
    Charlie was silent for a second. ‘So what happened with posh pony-loving Harriet?’
    I shrugged. ‘Oh, there was no big drama. We were together a couple of years, we talked about moving in together, but then it kind of went flat. Fizzled out. We’re still friends though.’
    Charlie’s hand had started wandering up and down my torso again. ‘Is that her picture out there in the living room?’
    ‘Huh? Oh – no, that’s Sasha. My best friend.’
    There was a photo of Sasha and me on holiday in Ibiza on the wall by the door. We were standing on top of a large rock, laughing. It had been a fun holiday, quite debauched, in fact.
    ‘She looks like a laugh.’
    ‘Yeah, she’s lovely. I’ll introduce you to her.’
    ‘Can’t wait.’
    She kissed me again, wriggling closer, and the kiss grew more passionate and Charlie came closer still until she was on top of me. We made love again, and this time I was fully absorbed, not worried about anything at all, great warm rushes of happiness enveloping me as Charlie made me feel better than I’d ever felt before.

Five
    At some point during the next couple of days, I told Charlie about Tilly and my conversation with Rachel.
    ‘So I need to find something to try to cheer her up,’ I said. We were lying in bed. We had been in my bed for almost forty-eight hours, only leaving it to go to the bathroom or to eat or grab drinks.
    ‘You think that’s a better plan than simply talking to her?’
    ‘Well . . . I think what I’d like to do is take her out somewhere and then talk to her, rather than turn up and say I want to have a word with her.’
    ‘You’re lovely,’ she said.
    I liked hearing her say things like that.
    ‘What kind of thing does she like doing?’ Charlie asked.
    ‘That’s the tricky part. She’s really into sport – she supports Arsenal, for her sins – and she loves swimming. Other than that, normal stuff.’ I shrugged. ‘Stuff that girls like.’
    ‘Stroking kittens, knitting, cooing over babies. That kind of thing?’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘Having their nipples slowly licked while their boyfriend slides ever so slowly into them . . .’
    ‘Actually, Tilly is the only woman I know who’s even ruder than you.’
    Charlie smiled. ‘I’d love to meet her.’
    ‘You will.’
    ‘And I’ll try to think of some ideas. You’re clearly a bit useless at that kind of stuff.’
    ‘True. Thank you.’
    ‘So. What I was saying about nipples . . .’

    Charlie went home in the afternoon to do laundry and ‘some woman stuff,’ as she put it.
    ‘Not meeting your other boyfriend?’
    She didn’t think it was funny. ‘I’m a one hundred per cent monogamous person. I hope you are too.’
    ‘Yes, of course.’ I pulled her against me. ‘Like I’d have enough energy left anyway.’
    She kissed me softly. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’
    It was the first exchange we’d had that made me think that she saw us as boyfriend-girlfriend. Some men might have been frightened by this development but I was delighted.
    When she came back later, she was carrying several carrier bags full of shopping. She produced a market stall’s worth of fresh vegetables from one bag – broccoli, red and yellow peppers, plump tomatoes, button mushrooms, a cauliflower smeared with mud – and a variety of spices and pulses from another. The third bag contained two bottles of wine. She opened one, commanded me to relax and have a drink and