I wonder when he will stop playing the piano? I think, though this thought disappears when I notice more people smiling at me and raising their glasses. And then I realise. These people assume we are a couple. Why wouldn't they? We are two men in a hotel drinking red wine and playing romantic songs to one another. Of course we are a couple. I go slightly red, and look over at David, just as he turns to me and smiles, broadly. Suddenly, David's little hat and silk scarf don't look quite so rock and roll. Suddenly, David's little hat and silk scarf look a little camp. I look around the bar again and on the sofas and chairs and in the corners and recesses are beaming faces, all trained on me.

What a lovely moment for him, they all seem to be thinking. Maybe it's their anniversary!

A lady leans in to me as she passes.

'He's very talented,' she says, and I say, 'Thank you!'

Thank you? I kick myself. Why did I say thank you? Why didn't I say, 'Yes, he is'? By saying 'thank you' I have just accepted the compliment for myself! By saying 'thank you', I have taken on the implied role of doting lover! I am his wife!

As a proud metrosexual and fervent anti-homophobe, I feel I should simply ignore any and all awkwardness, but it's hard, because David's started yet another romantic ditty, and he's just glanced back at me and smiled again.

Why does he keep playing romantic ditties? I think, panicking, but disgusted with myself for caring. And why does he keep glancing back at me while he's playing them? Have I fundamentally misunderstood what's going on here?

He finishes his tune, and for a horrible moment I think he is going to start another one - perhaps 'Daniel' by Elton John, or 'It's Raining Men' - but he stands up to a smattering of polite applause and sits next to me. I high-five him in as manly a way as I can muster.

'My wife enjoys piano music!' I say, quite loudly.

'I'm Bonnie,' says a girl, suddenly there next to us. It's the one who was watching at the start. 'I enjoyed your music.'

'Thank you,' says David. 'Do you play?'

'A little,' she says.

And then they walk off to the piano and play Chopsticks together.

David glances over at me and winks. This is what he'd been aiming for all along. I should laugh and give him a blokey thumbs-up, but instead I scowl as I jealously watch them duet.

That harlot, I think. He was mine.

THE STRANGER

Exchanging smiles with strangers is one of the small pleasures in life. When it starts to go wrong, however, is when they keep smiling at you.