I wanted us to talk properly. It wasn’t the best start, but surely a civilised conversation isn’t too much for us to carry on with? By the look on his face, I believe Jordan worries I’m hinting for something more. As for anything amorous, believe me, I’ve given up.

The last time we had sex was over two months ago. Not that I’m counting, but it was my birthday. The sex was so horrible, it may not even count as copulation. I’d booked us dinner at our local Spanish restaurant, Del Marche, Jordan’s favourite, where our meal was delicious and we shared a lovely bottle of Rioja. But a casual observer might have remarked, aptly, the intimacy was sorely lacking. Jordan checked his phone obsessively throughout our meal; I filled the empty space chatting with the waiter and, later, with the older couple sitting nearby. I’m not sure Jordan would have noticed if I’d upped and moved to their table, and at least the conversation would have been better. Although, the look on both of their faces when I mentioned Jordan had bought me a blender for my special day... Home earlier than expected, we nonetheless got ourselves naked and into bed, whereon Jordan proceeded to make love to me in a most perfunctory manner. To borrow Harry’s remark, as if it were a chore. You want the gory details? There was no foreplay. Precious little kissing. Jordan basically dipped a finger and then proceeded to thrust inside me with his erection for several excruciatingly long, awkward minutes. About five, to be precise. That was it. Jordan didn’t come. Of course, neither did I, but that isn’t the point. Unless a man is so plied with alcohol as to be practically comatose or is hitting the age where erectile dysfunction is a medical diagnosis, men always come. On my thirty-third birthday, I had sex with my mostly sober, thirty-two-year-old boyfriend and he didn’t even ejaculate. I sobbed silently in the dark. Jordan pretended to fall asleep. We never discussed it. Not then and not since. It’s what Jordan and I do with our problems. We leave them to fester.

It had been many weeks prior since Jordan and I had last been intimate. We haven’t been anywhere close since.

My toast pops.

‘It’s nothing, Jordan. I just meant that you’re working and it’s Sunday. Maybe you could take a break later? We could walk along the canal if the rain clears?’

As things are, it’s not as if I’m not gagging for Jordan to wipe the table clear with my naked buttocks and take me unto him.

I think of Faith’s comment….

What is the point of a relationship if there’s no sex?

At our age?

When there’s little else?