‘Someone I used to know. Isabella . . . my first love . . . Whoa, this brandy is really strong, isn’t it?’ You emptied the dregs into your mouth. ‘I noticed that first day at the surgery how much you were like her, and I felt compelled to blurt it out . . . but then I thought it was inappropriate. And you were vomiting, of course. It’s probably still inappropriate, isn’t it? Is it?’

‘No . . . no . . . I don’t think so.’ My face burned. ‘The brandy,’ I said, touching my cheek.

You took my hand in yours. ‘See, it’s made the shaking stop . . . I feel a bit drunk now, you know,’ you said. ‘Do you?’

‘A bit.’

My hand slipped from yours, and you poured more brandy into your glass, then mine, then rested your head on the back of the sofa.

‘We get on well, don’t we? It’s funny, isn’t it? How some people just . . .’ You clicked your fingers. ‘You don’t know why . . . but it’s there . . . like a knowing. Do you think it’s because of our dead mothers?’ Your hand returned to mine. The sensation carried through my body.

‘I . . . I don’t know.’

‘Nah, I don’t think it’s that.’ You turned your head, looked at me. ‘It’s just there . . . because that’s what happens with certain people. Connection. And it’s a rare and wonderful thing.’

I wondered if I was so drunk I was imagining it all. If it was one of those frequent dreams I’d have about you, when I’d wake, stomach flipping. Or if it was happening, perhaps I was misunderstanding all you said.

Etta James was singing ‘At Last’. In that moment I knew it had now become our song. You looked at my eyes, my mouth, my eyes. I remained silent. Silent, as you removed the glass from my hand and placed it on the floor. Silent, as you brought your face so close the alcohol on your lips took my breath away. Silent, as you placed your hands either side of my head.

Silent, as we kissed.

Did it feel different to you? Than with anyone else? When you were inside me. When your eyes bored into mine. My hair wrapped around the hand you pulled it with, causing pain, beautiful pain. Did you feel it? Our bond. I never told you this, but when I came, when I dragged your salt mouth to mine as I came, that was the first time it had happened with anyone but myself.

Did you feel it too? When we lay on our backs, fingertips touching. Breeze from the open window cooling our stomachs. You did. I know you did.

And do you remember? How when I shivered, you pulled the duvet over me, kissed my goosebumped skin, stroked my hair. We shared a cigarette and you said, ‘So anyway, Constance, who was your first love?’