‘Please, Dale. You’re my friend. I don’t want to hurt you.’ As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were a poor choice.

‘Friend?’ He got up and went to the fridge. ‘I’m your friend, am I?’

‘I . . . I don’t mean just my friend.’ It was then I had a clear sense I should have run. But it was Dale. Only Dale.

He reached in for a beer, then came and stood right in front of me. With his eyes glued to mine, he slowly opened the cutlery drawer adjacent to my hip. I could hear my heart. He removed the bottle opener and popped off the top. Let it fall to the floor.

‘Then lift your skirt,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘If I’m not just a friend, then lift up your skirt.’ His body swayed as he gulped the beer. Not stopping until I could see half the liquid had disappeared. Then he started to cry.

I leant heavier against the counter. ‘Dale . . . you’re upset . . . I understand—’

‘I’m not upset. I’m just awake, Connie.’

His attempt to reach around me and put the bottle on the work surface failed and it toppled into the sink. Glass shattered against the pan. Beer sizzled into the water.

‘If you don’t just see me as a friend, then lift up your skirt and let’s fuck.’ His pained eyes leaked tears over his flaming cheeks, and white stringy froth connected his top and bottom lips as he pressed against me. My hands slipped back on the worktop and I could feel leftovers smearing my flesh. Plates clanked. My fingertip scraped the chopping-knife blade.

‘Dale . . . listen, you have to get off me. You’re upset, drunk.’

His face buried into my neck, while his hand reached for the hem of my skirt. The material rose between his fingers like a Roman blind, and he tried to kiss me. Our lips opposing magnets. Hot mucus and saliva slipped over my face. His free hand pulled at my hair. As I liked it. But I didn’t like it. I wanted to tell him, scream, though I couldn’t make words form, only pig-like squeals as his mouth overcame mine. Intruding tongue. A prelude to his hand weaving into my knickers, pulling them down and inserting his fingers inside me with force. It hurt. I cried.

Fury travelled from my toes up through the parts he was abusing and reached my head, until finally I managed to pull my mouth away long enough to shout, ‘Stop. Dale, you have to stop.’

At least I thought I did. I wondered if I’d made a sound at all. Because Dale would have stopped. But he kissed harder. Pushed deeper. Breaking away only slightly to whisper, ‘If you love me, then show me.’