“What am I? Vidal Sassoon?” I ask, huffing. I grab his comb and draw it gently through the long length of his hair. It’s a dark caramel colour because it’s wet. “You’ve got more hair than one of those troll dolls,” I observe.

He smiles, his eyes still shut. “Such a flatterer. I can see why you get laid so much.”

“They come for the looks. They stay for the cock.”

He laughs, and I smile, starting to dry his hair, tunnelling my hand through the waves under the hot air. He sits quiescently. When I’ve finished, I open his case and rummage through it until I find a pair of briefs. He sits still while I kneel and put his legs through them and pull them up.

“You’re very spoilt,” I observe, and he yawns widely without putting his hand over his mouth, showing white teeth and a very pink tongue.

“I am very lucky.” He yawns again. “I’m so tired,” he says, and the words drag and slide.

“Get into bed.” I pull the covers back, and he swings his legs up, sighing in satisfaction.

“God, that feels good,” he slurs. I pull the covers over him, tucking him in, and his eyes suddenly fly open. “What about Harry?”

“What about him?” I say evenly.

“Where is he? He might want to get back in the room for his stuff. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to be in the same room.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” I say smoothly. “He’s gone out anyway, and I’ve locked the door.”

He nods, and his eyes slide shut. “Lie with me,” he whispers.

I immediately acquiesce, going round to the other side of the bed and drawing him close to me. When he’s had a seizure, he’s a total cuddle monster. It seems to ground him a bit.

I look around the room properly for the first time. “Why is there a bath in the bedroom?”

“It’s supposed to be decadent,” he says sleepily.

“It’s actually like something from an early episode of Emmerdale. Couldn’t they afford walls to make a room for it? What’s that called? Oh, I know. A bathroom.”

“It’s sexy.”

“It’s penny-pinching.” He snorts, and I shake my head. “So, Harry has booked a room with a bath right in front of the bed to remind you how much you miss having a bath.” I sniff. “Cunt. I’m surprised that you actually fuck this man, Charlie. I marvel at it whenever I have a spare minute.”

“Well, that must be a lot, then. You bankers don’t really do much.” I pinch him, and he laughs. “I haven’t fucked him for ages, anyway,” he mutters.

“Really?” I try not to let my delight at that news saturate my voice, but I’m not entirely sure that I succeed. I also work hard not to examine why I feel like that. Dry few weeks, I reassure myself.