It took them a little while to get out of the pub, Dermot had to say goodbye in various ways to so many people. But no one seemed at all surprised that Laura was going with him. She realised he could probably have had any woman he wanted in that pub at that moment; while they might have wondered at his choice, the fact that he was going home with a woman was to be expected.

‘I’m just one in a long line of women,’ she told herself during the last ‘goodbye’ conversation. ‘But that’s all right. Poets are all womanisers. At least it means he’ll know what he’s doing.’ Anticipation and fear heightened her desire. She remembered reading that they did and her addled brain tried to think where. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ she told herself, ‘and if it isn’t, it’s something to tell my grandchildren.’ Then she giggled as she imagined the unlikely scenario of her own grandmother telling her about her first sexual encounter.

Eventually they were out into the cold air. She stumbled slightly and he took her arm. Should I tell him I’m a virgin, she wondered, and then decided not to. It might stop him. It would make it far too big a deal. I want to have sex with him for all the right and all the wrong reasons, she reminded herself. I don’t want to make him feel bad about it.

She was barely aware of the short journey to his house. He strode purposefully up the path, opened the front door and pushed her gently inside. Before she had time to take anything in he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He was an expert, she decided, her knees almost buckling as whiskey and desire hit them at the same time. I have made exactly the right decision, she thought: my virginity is safe in this man’s hands! Is that what I mean? Her brain seemed to be twirling away on its own, disconnected from anything that made sense. She decided to put all thinking on hold until later; just now, she wanted to relish every moment.

Without letting go he manoeuvred her into a bedroom and carried on kissing her. He held her very tightly, pressing her to him. His hand moved from the back of her waist to her bottom and she realised she had never wanted any body else’s hand to go there – how strange it was that an intimate touch could be so horrible from the wrong person and so wonderful from the right one.

‘Do you need to use the bathroom?’ he murmured into her hair that he was now curling his fingers into.