We talked for a little bit about her art, about how she was trying to get some of her paintings shown at a big exhibition that was coming up, and then we talked a little about graphic design, though I didn’t have that much to say about it. I mainly wanted to listen to her talk, to hear her melodic voice as she skipped about from topic to topic. She knew a lot about literature and music as well as art, and when she spoke, her passion for these things, for culture, for life, was infectious. She was funny too, and unusual. I had never met anyone like her.

I refilled our glasses.

‘You must be doing okay from being a designer,’ she said, ‘if you could afford to buy this place.’

‘Did I tell you I’d bought this place?’ I couldn’t remember much of the conversation.

‘Yeah, you said something about having a mortgage.’

‘Wow, Mr Interesting. But I can afford this place because of money I got from my parents.’

Charlie gave me another of her ironic looks. ‘Ooh, are you rich? Have I lucked out?’

I hesitated. I don’t really like to tell people about my parents straight away because I don’t want them to feel sorry for me, and it can be awkward. I certainly didn’t want Charlie to feel sympathy for me but, at the same time, I didn’t want to keep any secrets from her, so I told her, keeping my voice as light as possible.

‘Oh Andrew,’ she said, her eyes shining with compassion. ‘That must have really . . . sucked.’

I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You could put it like that.’

‘I’d like to meet Tilly. She sounds very brave.’

‘Yeah, she is. But if you said that to her she’d tell you to fuck off.’

‘Ha. My kind of girl. And then you had your eye thing. Sounds like you’ve had a lot of bad luck.’

I took another sip of wine, surprised to find that I’d finished my second glass.

‘I’ve had some good luck too,’ I said.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You won the Lottery?’

‘No, I mean meeting you.’

She grinned. ‘Oh God, that is so corny.’

But she put her arms around me and kissed me.

It was even better than the kiss we’d shared at the end of our night out. She was so soft, and her lips so warm, and heat radiated off her body as she pressed it against me. It was like being a teenager again: kissing for its own sake, not only as a prelude to sex. Charlie made little noises in her throat, her eyes shut tight, one hand on my chest, the other snaking around my back, slipping up inside my T-shirt.

‘You’re a very good kisser,’ she said, breaking off for a moment. ‘Have you had lots of practice?’

I just laughed.