A quick spritz of perfume, a frantic tidy of the house, and she settles on the sofa to wait.

She hopes he won’t be long. Their relationship is made up of stolen fragments, a few hours here and there, pieced in between work and home life. His home life, not hers. She puts the TV on. An episode of Tipping Point plays out. Such a ridiculous concept, but she watches it anyway. Anything to distract her from scrolling absent-mindedly on her phone.

It’s never certain when he’ll arrive. Sometimes he gets caught up at work. Sometimes it’s because of her. But today the knock is only a little late, and she switches off the television, walking quickly to the hallway, her stomach a jumble of nerves as she opens the door.

He looks contrite, mumbles an apology. But she can’t help a smile; she’ll forgive him anything, he knows that. He holds out a small parcel, neatly wrapped in silver paper with a sparkly ribbon.

‘For me?’ she jokes as he presents it with a small bow. She knows what it is, and unwraps it as he takes his shoes off, hanging his coat up next to hers.

Three tiny bottles: shampoo, conditioner and a moisturiser. Hotel freebies, from his visit away this week. He always saves them – remembering a comment from their first sneaked dirty weekend in a hotel – and she likes knowing he’s thinking of her. He makes the effort to wrap them lavishly, like they’re a proper present.

‘Molton Brown,’ she says approvingly, taking the lid off one and sampling the fragrance. ‘Posh hotel?’

‘It was.’ He smiles. ‘Wish you could have come up and stayed.’

She would have liked that too, but work had been frantic, trying to wrap things up before starting with a new sergeant next week. But she doesn’t reply, just takes his hand and leads him up the stairs.

In her bedroom, she pulls him towards her then kisses him hard. He kicks the door shut with his foot and they stagger together into the room, his jacket, then tie, and her T-shirt, falling at their feet.

With him being away, it’s been over a week since she saw him. She wants him, inhales him, as they fall together on the bed, his weight on top of her. He kisses her neck, her chest, her breasts, him awkwardly fumbling to remove her bra with one hand.

It’s over quickly. The first one never takes long; too keen to have each other. After, they lie on the bed, her head resting on his chest, and he tells her about his week. It’s not that interesting, if truth be told, but she likes the mundane nature of it, as if this is their normal lives.