‘No, but you know me. I’ll live. Maybe I’ll finally take a leaf out of your book and swear off relationships forever. How do you do it? Don’t you want to fall in love?’

‘What for? I’ve got Samson for cuddles, and who needs all the hassle and faff of disappointing sex with a man when vibrators exist? Simple, efficient and get the job done reliably, unlike a bloke.’

‘Jason said he didn’t think I was as “in” to sex as he was,’ Sam remarks sadly. ‘I did at least have a decent comeback for that.’

‘Which was?’

‘If he had the faintest idea how to please a woman, and didn’t come before I even had a chance to get going, I might have been more in to it.’

‘Nice. Hit him where it hurts. I read somewhere that men take it very badly if you criticise the way they make love or drive. There was a third one as well, but I can’t remember it.’

‘Shame. I’d have thrown that in too if I’d known. He’s a terrible driver.’ She giggles. ‘He thinks he’s so cool with his pimped-up Fiesta, but I hate that car. It’s noisy, uncomfortable and you can’t hear yourself think over the thudding of the stereo. I won’t miss that. Maybe I’ll creep round there in the middle of the night and scratch a motivational message into the custom paint job that he paid so much for.’

‘What would you write?’

She ponders for a minute. ‘“If I look like an arsehole and I sound like an arsehole, chances are I’m an arsehole.”’

‘I like it.’

‘On the other side, I’d write “I fuck like I drive. Badly.”’ She takes another swig from her glass, draining it completely before reaching for the bottle to refill it.

‘Why don’t you go and have a hot bath?’ I suggest. ‘I’ll call you when dinner’s ready, and then we can watch a weepy on Netflix if you like. That always cheers you up.’

‘I love you, you know that, right?’ she says.

‘Of course I do. I love you too. Now go.’

I watch as she potters off in the direction of her bedroom, carrying the glass of wine. Sensing that she’s not going to meet his demands, Samson switches his attention to me. I pick him up and put him over my shoulder, causing a fresh outbreak of purring so intense it feels like my brain is vibrating.

‘All right,’ I tell him as I reach into the cupboard. ‘One treat. That’s all though, remember what the vet said about your weight.’

Samson nuzzles my neck with his cheek. If he could talk, I reckon he’d be saying, ‘Screw the vet, what does he know about anything?’