It was now ten past. I didn’t want to leave, though knew I had to soon. Before doing so, I needed a few more minutes on your bed, to soak up the last molecules of you. I melted once again into your pillow. Pulled my legs up slowly so as not to disturb the sheets. And lay in the foetal position, remembering what had happened in that very spot. How your skin felt when touching mine. The sensation of you inside me. And I couldn’t help it. I placed my hand down my trousers, inside my pants. Kept it there. Moved it there. Thinking of us.

I woke. Hot, shivering. Sweating in my coat. My chin wet with saliva, my body filled with fear. I sat up, looked over at the clock. Five past ten. My fingers trembled as I scrambled through my bag for my phone. I pressed the home button. Twelve missed calls.

Initially, so panicked about Dale, I didn’t think about the possibility of you coming back. But once I did, I became light-headed. Standing in the middle of the room with my hands clasped at the back of my neck. Seeing if everything was back how it should be. Incapable of clarity, calmness. I thought the pillows looked right but couldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember anything. I wasn’t even fully awake and shook my head to bring me round.

Accepting that everything was as good as I could get it in the bedroom, I inspected the bathroom. I wanted to go on checking, checking, but had to get out of there as quickly as possible. I switched off the lights and headed for the door. My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow and it felt like I was suffocating. My phone flashed again in my bag. I checked the time – quarter past. Then ran into the kitchen, switched on the light and turned on the tap. Unable to use a glass, I placed my mouth under the gently running stream and lapped like a cat. My hair got wet and I tried not to flick the drips anywhere by carefully tucking it into my collar. Once finished, my hand poised over the light switch, I caught sight of the fridge door. That same milk note. Your calendar. All the entries as before. With a new addition. In red pen. Circled for the extra importance. Friday the 9th: 5.30. Vini Italiani. Laura.

The sweating, the …

The sweating, the sleepiness, had been the prelude to an illness that had taken hold, and I wondered if it was perhaps payback for Ms Kemple’s mug, even though you’d escaped the effects entirely. Regardless of the cause, by the time I’d made it home, my throat felt skinned and my body emanated a heat that mirrored my fury.