Afraid of rejection, I followed his lead.

Neither of us has mentioned a word about it.

Which is why I’m really rather miffed that, last night, Jordan went to the trouble of wearing his underpants to bed, where usually he sleeps butt naked. Things are so uncomfortable between us, I had to sneak a surreptitious glance to check, but they were ugly green underpants at that – the tacky five-pairs-to-a-packet, elasticised style of undies I wasn’t aware my boyfriend even owned. I was mortified to think Jordan might have worn them as a defensive shroud for his privates. As if by depriving me of sex and sleeping next to me without them, I might otherwise jump on top of his flaccid penis without a moment’s notice. Last night, I lay next to him feeling insecure and, though I’d done nothing other than hope that he might desire me once more, foolish. Now, more than worrying why my boyfriend no longer fancies the pants off me, Jordan is starting to make me perpetually cross.

‘Jordan, I’m in a cupboard,’ I say. Against my ear, my mobile is getting hot.

‘What?’

‘I’m in a cupboard, Jordan, so we can talk.’

I raise my feet to the bottom rung of the ladder, suddenly fearful of what six- or eight-legged creatures might be lurking in the corners on the floor.

Right now, I need my boyfriend to assure me that no matter what happens with the future of my show today, he’ll be there for me.

‘Grace, I’m at work, I can’t talk. I’m sorry you were sick. Are you feeling better?’ Jordan is intent on wrapping things up.

‘I’m worried sick about this meeting.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine.’ The line is temporarily muffled before Jordan screams into my ear, ‘SEX SELLS!’ Presumably, not at me. Nonetheless…

‘Jordan, I host a cookery show, I hardly think that adage applies.’ And he can talk!

Jordan calls to someone in his office, ‘Of course the hot one!’

‘Jordan!’

In the background, a giggling female also calls out to my boyfriend.

I hang up.