‘Jasper was here last night. Do you know what? He cooked for me. He brought everything and I just sat here and watched, and didn’t try to tell him what to do at any point. It was pan-fried brill, herbed crust, pak choi …’ We caught each other’s eye and laughed. ‘And, as you know, it’s the sexiest thing a man can do. Expertly cook for you and then feed you and then expertly take you to bed.’

So that was it; no wonder she looked so luminous.

‘First time?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘Definitely not the last. If I have any choice in the matter.’

We talked about it a little, but in much less detail than Mel usually went in for. She was protective of him and the newness of what was happening. ‘It’s really good,’ she said disbelievingly. ‘But I’m just going to wait and see what happens. Just straight. I don’t want any games or stuff.’

I smiled at her. Mel was the Olympic gold medallist, the prime-time, turned-pro, million-dollar queen of dating game play and to hear her talking like this was something new. She reminded me of Lola, confiding in me about the geography student. I stretched my stiff knees under the table and thought I could hear them creak. ‘Tell me more about him.’

He was forty-six, a bit younger than Mel, but not significantly so. He was a graphic designer, not loaded but not broke either. He was divorced, with an eighteen-year-old daughter who lived with her mother and he got on fine with both of them. He’d been involved with someone until recently, but it had fizzled out. Mel and he had met at a PR party, and he had asked for her number.

‘He’s not a loser or a loony, not a world-class bore, doesn’t wear Y-fronts, doesn’t pick his teeth. He’s interesting, and funny, and interested. He’s …’ she hesitated and I waited for the punchline that would diminish him just enough to set up Mel’s self-protection in advance. I waited some more and she sighed. ‘He’s lovely,’ she concluded.

‘That’s good,’ I said quietly. ‘When can I meet him?’

‘Soon,’ she said and I knew she didn’t want to share him with anyone just yet.

Back at home, Lola had packed her belongings into her car, ready for the return trip to Manchester. I stood on the front step, waving goodbye until the car was out of sight.

Afterwards I made Jack some supper, and checked and signed his homework sheet. He had done something, at least, but I knew it was only the minimum. I told him he needed an early night and he retired with his birdwatchers’ diary.