The last time I got waxed I was seen by a trainee, and although the physical scars are gone, the mental scars remain. I haven’t been back since and that was three months ago.

OK, I lie, it was six months ago.

A knock on the door. How did he get upstairs? I blame the shitty front door that doesn’t close properly.

‘Coming! One sec!’ On my way to the door I quickly dive into the bathroom and stash some of my more embarrassing self-care items – including facial wax strips and hemorrhoid cream (I’ve heard it’s good on spots) – at the back of the cupboard.

If possible my heart is beating even faster.

Fuck it. No more hiding, Bea. You can do this.

I keep telling my heart that there is no reason to be quite so jumpy, but it’s beating so fast and no calming thoughts are making it slow down. A jumpy heart is a good sign, isn’t it?

With no other choice open to me, I grow some boobs and open the door.

His face is still extremely beautiful.

‘Hi again.’

He remains standing.

‘So, you wanna come in?’

‘Yeah.’

No guesses as to what happens next …

CHAPTER 19

What happens next is …

He walks through the door and I close it behind him.

‘The flat is messier since the last time you saw it. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize.’ He gives a hint of a cheeky smile. His eyes travel over me. I hope he likes what he sees. I turn my back on him. I know my butt looks great at least.

‘I feel underdressed. I would have worn my new shirt if I’d known I’d be seeing you this evening.’

‘Oh yeah, sorry. I would have changed, but you were too quick.’ I turn back and see that he has a plastic bag with him. It smells like fried chicken.

‘Is that a bag of fried chicken?’

‘Er, yeah. I didn’t want to come empty-handed.’

How unconventional.

Despite him being a guest, I use the old plates I’ve had since university. The ones that weren’t quite white to begin with.

‘So you really do have friends who live right around the corner?’ I hope this is the kind of question people normally ask in this situation. Not having been in this situation for a long time, I just don’t know.

‘Yeah, but around the dodgy corner. You won’t know them. You’re quite posh.’

‘Am I?’ In my mind Peter is posh, but I guess everything is relative.

‘I don’t mean it in a bad way, but yeah, you are. You keep your microwave in the cupboard and you have great teeth.’

And there I was wondering if I had picked up a bit of a posher accent, but no. It’s my dentistry and storage space that he’s using as a marker. I don’t think I’ve ever been complimented on my teeth before. It’s not exactly the most romantic of compliments, but it will do.