I stand there dumbly, just as I did six years ago, feeling excitement and terror do battle in my stomach.

And then I tell her: ‘Yes.’

Chapter Twenty-Nine

On the face of it, Alice’s place is not much different to mine: a low-ceilinged two-bedroom flat halfway up a creaky seven-storey apartment block. Even the floorboards squeak in the same way – though I can’t hear any explosive marital disputes coming from above.

Alice chucks her coat onto the baggy brown sofa and asks if I’m OK with more red wine. I tell her that I am. And as she goes into the kitchen to find a bottle, I take the opportunity to have a proper look around.

She must have been in this place for two years now, but it looks like she’s only just moved in. The walls are bare – no photos or posters – and there are no books or magazines or DVDs in sight. The whole place has a slightly furniture showroom feel to it: everything spotlessly clean but not very … homely.

The only concession to the time of year is a small, undecorated Christmas tree about the size of a toaster, which sits glumly on the windowsill.

I slump down onto the sofa and try to remember what I was feeling at this exact moment last time. Nervous. Excited. Those were definitely the two overriding emotions, with horny probably bagging third place on the podium. Despite that, though, I don’t think I felt particularly guilty at this point.

Daff and I were supposed to be on a break: that was what I kept telling myself. And even though we hadn’t set any rules, or mentioned the idea of seeing other people, she was the one who had initiated the whole thing. Plus, I couldn’t escape the idea that this entire evening felt like fate. I mean: what were the chances of randomly bumping into the girl I’d once had a major thing for? It seemed like it was meant to be.

Or maybe I felt no guilt because at this point I still didn’t think anything would actually happen. From the minute we stepped through the door of the flat, I kept expecting Alice to yawn and sigh and tell me it had been a fun day but she was knackered and maybe I had better go. I think part of me would have been relieved if she had. But she never did.

Instead, she came back from the kitchen, sat down on the sofa, and kissed me. I kissed her back, and then we went through to the bedroom, leaving our wine undrunk behind us.

I don’t know what I was thinking, really. As soon as we kissed, it was like I stopped thinking altogether. My brain took a back seat and – with pathetic predictability – other parts of my body stepped in to take control.

So it wasn’t until afterwards that the guilt came.