As I gently placed it down, the familiarity of your scent both comforted and upset me. However, I mustn’t have carried much of an aroma myself, because you continued to gaze at the screen, oblivious. I didn’t leave. I stood there. Patiently.

‘Is everything OK, Alison?’ You finally turned your head. Blood surged to your cheeks. ‘Oh, Constance . . . I didn’t . . . I thought you were . . .’

‘No.’

‘Is everything OK?’

‘I wondered if we could talk?’

You swivelled your chair to face me. Interlaced your fingers and placed the ankle of your right leg onto the knee of your left, revealing the blue polo player of your red Ralph Lauren sock. ‘Of course. What would you like to talk about? Did you take the pill?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you. Well, it was for your sake just as much as mine. So what would you like to talk about?’

As you sat there, cocked-headed, foot wagging, waiting for me to speak, I felt ridiculous. Smaller than the molecule of crust resting upon your eyelash.

‘I . . . well . . . I—’

‘I’m quite busy, Constance.’

‘I just don’t understand.’ The words were out there. Bouncing pointlessly around the room.

‘You don’t understand what?’

I dropped my head. ‘Why . . . why you’d say those things, then change.’

‘What things?’

My throat clamped. ‘That . . . that we . . .’

‘You’re mumbling now.’

‘That we were connected and . . . and that it’s a rare thing.’ I looked up. Watched as you dropped your head back, revealing a shaving cut on your throat.

‘Why are you bringing this up again?’ you said to the ceiling. Or God. Was it to God?

‘I just don’t understand,’ I whispered.

You took a long intake of breath, then exhaled loudly. ‘OK . . . OK . . . I can’t believe we’re still doing this, but I’ll answer you because I’m a decent guy, and don’t like seeing anyone upset, but I don’t want to have to answer it again, OK?’ You continued as if I’d nodded in agreement. Your face was mapped with red. ‘Good, OK . . . I think you’re a great girl, and we did connect, or get on or whatever . . . We still do. But at any point did I say it was more than just a bit of fun? Look, I’m . . . I’m sorry if you believed otherwise. Honestly . . . I’m a straight-down-the-line guy. If I’d thought for one minute that you did or . . . or had any . . . feelings, I would have nipped it in the bud instantly. OK? Is that fair enough? You really have to let it go now.’

I looked into your unblinking eyes. ‘So you jeopardized your career, my job, for a bit of fun?’