‘Yeah. I’m a terrible dancer. But it was my party so I thought I should give it a go. And anyway, it didn’t matter after you—’ She stops suddenly, swigs her beer. ‘Why did you go so early?’

‘Tired, like I said. Did I miss any gossip? Any punch-ups, anyone get off with anyone else?’

‘No. Unfair, right? I’m the birthday girl. I should have been kissed, at least. But I guess the entire population knowing I’ve never kissed anyone means it’s not a tempting prospect. I might be as bad at kissing as I am at dancing.’

I say nothing. Nothing happened with Tim. It’s stupid but it feels like a tiny victory.

‘You’ve kissed a lot of girls, Joel.’

‘Not that many.’ It’s a lie, but suddenly it matters to me that Kerry doesn’t think I’m some cliché footballer who shags a different woman every weekend.

‘Are some girls no good at it? Like some people can’t sing in tune or draw a straight line?’

It crosses my mind that this might be her way of asking me to kiss her and let her know if she’s any good.

No. I’m being an idiot. Clever people have always done my head in, but since my cardiac arrest, it’s much worse. Everything they say is a riddle or a puzzle that my brain can’t unravel. Does she want to kiss me or not?

I want to kiss her.

My bottle is empty so I go to the fridge and take two fresh beers to her end of the sofa.

I still want to kiss her.

I set the bottles down on the Moroccan brass table. I’ve wanted to kiss her since I saw her walk into the Girasol tonight. Would she be here, be saying these things if she didn’t want the same?

Slowly, I sit on the sofa next to her and turn her face towards mine. ‘No one is crap at kissing with the right person.’

I lean in towards her, smelling the yeasty beer on her breath, and our lips meet for the second time ever.

At least this time I’m awake.

Her face gives off heat like a bonfire. I part her lips with my tongue, gently, wanting it to be right for her. She sighs and begins to kiss me back. I run my hands through her thick hair and I can smell coconut.

I move away for a moment. ‘OK?’ I whisper, looking into her eyes.

‘Yes. Except . . . tell me. Am I a crap kisser?’

‘I think you already know the answer to that one.’