David nods, in amusement or bafflement, I can’t tell which.

‘Hi, Sonya.’ He bends to pick up a conker. ‘What a beauty, and I thought the season was over.’ He’s scrutinising the chestnut. ‘Like polished mahogany.’

Is he staring at his reflection in there? I sidle up to him, peer over his shoulder, experience a strange jealousy at the object of his fascination. ‘Hmmm, shiny alright.’ The strain of playing Ms Sanity is beginning to show, the seams of my character fraying at the edges.

‘The kitten is on its way to being trained; doesn’t shit now every time I leave the room.’ What am I doing? He doesn’t respond, just takes out another white starched handkerchief and wraps the conker in it. Does he have a nature table at home? Uncontrollable laughter rises.

‘What’s so funny, Sonya?’

He regards me from a wary distance, then surprises us both by tickling me in the ribs. I wriggle against him like a little kid. A charge is ignited between us that has nothing to do with being a kid. Inhale him, his signature citrus scent masking salt and sweat.

And just like that, he invites Elation in. My breath is caught high in my ribcage, my body saturated with beats. Frothy wisps of clouds gambol overhead, grass green and shining, drops of rain still clinging to individual blades, trembling. The air shimmers with music.

‘You ok?’

What does he see when he looks at me? An overwrought, strung-out woman of a certain age, too thin, ribs jutting through and all lustre gone from her hair. Washed-out blonde. Washed-up actress. I hope I wasn’t humming.

‘You seem brighter today, Sonya.’

Is that good? Bright, as in happy-bright, up-bright, intelligent-bright, or over-bright?

‘Yes. I guess I am.’ I shiver, quite dramatically.

‘Cold?’

‘A bit. Shall we go inside?’ I’m careful not to use the words ‘home’ or ‘to my place’.

He doesn’t say anything, just walks in tandem beside me, breath hawing in the cold air, as if we were both chasing down some fantastical dragon.

‘That’s quite a shade of pink!’ he says when we reach the front door. I smile. My fingers feel thick and clumsy; the keys drop, he picks them up, our hands touch. The kitten at my ankles, rubbing, purring. How sweet, how achingly sweet. I pick her up, kiss her, go into the yard. He follows me and leans against the door, observing me observing the kitten.

As I move past him to come back inside, my body brushes against his, one breast accidentally pushing against him. He grabs me, presses me against the fridge, its vibrations thrumming through me. He freezes, pulls away. I draw him back. ‘It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.’

‘Sonya, this is not wise.’

When have I ever done anything because it’s wise?

‘You’re not my counsellor, right?’

He considers this a moment. ‘Not in an official capacity, but still…’

I want this man in this moment more than I’ve ever wanted anything.