“They put out adult covers,” I say patiently and for the five hundredth time. “There was no adult content to go with them. Harry and Ron didn’t suddenly start going to strip bars. Hermione didn’t huff glue with Nearly Headless Nick.”

The sudden silence is broken by Mr Pinter’s bark of laughter. “I want to read books like that. Remember when Mrs Hannigan was a member, and she chose all those covers with the men with their abs? What did you call them, Rita? An abomination of literature?” He nudges her. “Bet you didn’t skim those books.”

“I didn’t skim anything,” she starts to say but is interrupted as everyone stands and begins to chatter about next week’s selections.

After helping them with getting their books stamped, I see them to the door. I breathe a silent sigh of relief as they wave goodbye and vanish into the night.

Joan pauses as she’s on her way out. “Where’s that Misha gone?” she asks, craning her neck around.

“Oh, I think he went out first,” I lie blithely. I am quite aware that he’s leaning against the non-fiction stacks at the back of the library.

“Shame. Hope he comes again. He had a very different way of looking at books.”

“You can say that again,” I mutter, smiling.

I close and lock the doors. Silence falls. “Bring me the shutter bolts, will you?” I call, and Misha’s dark figure detaches from the shadows. He stops at the counter and leans over, coming up with the Tupperware box containing the bolts used to lock the shutters.

I press the button, and the shutters rattle down. The noise is unnaturally loud in the silence between us, and abruptly I’ve had enough. I hate feeling like I can’t reach out and touch him or speak to him.

“Well, I think we’ve learnt some lessons tonight,” I say over-brightly.

“Is it that your book club don’t actually read the books you choose?” he says. “Or that you behaved like a complete tosser this morning?”

“Misha,” I say imploringly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Really? And what exactly are you sorry for?” There’s a peculiar sense of waiting about him, as if he’s holding his breath.

“Well, for walking out like that this morning. I still can’t believe I did it.”

He flicks his fingers over the shutter, still not looking at me. “So, why did you, Charlie?”

“I don’t know.” He finally looks at me, startled, and I shrug helplessly. “I really don’t know. I woke up, and I panicked. I thought—”

“What did you think?” he says urgently.

He’s suddenly closer to me, and I inhale sharply. “I thought we’d ruined everything.”

“And have we?” His voice is hushed.

“You tell me.” I sigh. “Misha, this is massive. In one step, we changed everything, and we never discussed it. We just did it.”