“I’m sure we will at some point,” he says. His smile has a wild edge to it. “Now we’re a couple.”

“And when you say that, you mean as strangers who fucked and have now moved completely on to other things and other people, yes?” I say hopefully.

“No, silly,” he says, patting my arm like I’m a dog. “I mean, now we’re in a relationship.”

There’s a very protracted silence which, in the end, I’m forced to break. “Ah well, I’m afraid the only commitment I’m making today is to drink my coffee. In peace,” I add. “Alone.” In case that didn’t get through.

His smile falls away. “You said last night we were meant to be.”

My memory starts to return. “No, you said that. I said we were meant to fuck, and I wanted to do that immediately.”

“But we’re on the same wavelength,” he says in an affronted tone.

“We are not,” I say, revolted. “You said you were a skiing expert, and yet you didn’t even know who Graham Bell is.”

He cocks his head. “And I’m sure you’re wrong about that. I’m telling you he was the dancing boy in Billy Elliott.”

A snort of laughter sounds from behind my naked admirer. Micky immediately spins around. “Can we help you?” he says sharply.

“No, I don’t think so,” the stranger says. His voice is low and pleasant-sounding and still has a smile in it. “And I have to agree it’s Graham Bell who’s the skier. Not known for his dancing, I’m afraid. Those skis get in the way of the steps.”

Unbidden, my lips twitch, but I clear my expression as Micky wheels back round to me.

He puts his hands on his hips, and we all try to ignore the ribbon flapping perkily around his genitals.

“Well, Magnus. Last chance to get all of this perfection to yourself.”

“I think I’ll pass,” I inform him briskly.

“Really?” he says in blatant incomprehension. “Why?”

“Because I picked you up in a bar, you blew me in the toilets, and then I brought you back here for a fuck. I was quite clear through that process that I did not hear wedding bells. I don’t like the sound of them. In fact, I think I am dangerously allergic.”

He exhales through his nose, his eyes narrowing rather ominously.

“I suppose it’s for the best. You’re far too old for me,” he finally says, bending to pick up his coat.

“Oh, quite ancient,” I say cheerfully. “You need someone young who can appreciate naked accessorising. I’m far too stuck in the mud.”

“I wish you were. So stuck that you drowned in it.” With that, he twirls around dramatically and strides towards the lift.

A silence falls after the lift doors shut on my erstwhile suitor. Finally, I look towards the other man.