‘Well I bloody do if living means becoming boooooooring.’

‘You think anything that doesn’t involve Class A drugs is boring …’

‘You got that right.’

‘But in fact Michael has led quite an interesting life.’ It’s not that interesting, in fact, from what I’ve heard, but I’m not willing to concede the point. As far as I can make out, he met his boyfriend forty-eight years ago, and did absolutely nothing ever since, didn’t even get Civil Partnered because ‘it takes so much organising’, and is regretting it now he’s dead. I haven’t told Jonathan any of this because the words ‘Civil Partnership’ are like a red rag to a bull, and he’ll start on his speech about ‘apeing heterosexual norms’. Jonathan would be more than willing to ape if anyone asked him, but until that happy day he’s quite political about it.

Fortunately for me, the discussion is cut short by a lot of jostling around the door. Jonathan stops in mid-sentence and says, ‘OMFG! It’s him!’ and runs off with his mobile phone held above his head, snapping pictures as he goes. Through the scrum I can just about see a mop of dark brown curls so I guess that Lukas has arrived after all, and that’s the end of any conversation with Jonathan.

‘He’s even shorter than he looks on TV,’ says a voice behind me. It’s Stuart again, standing so close that I can feel the heat from his torso on mine. ‘He looks a bit chipmunky.’

‘He’s got weedy arms,’ I say.

‘Yeah, and no arse.’

That seems to have exhausted the conversation for now, but fortunately Stuart takes the initiative, puts a hand at the back of my neck and kisses me on the mouth. I’m so taken aback that I open up and his tongue goes straight in. He has a stubbly chin but very soft lips, which is a particularly effective combination as far as I’m concerned. He pulls me towards him, and our bodies touch from chest to knee. He’s quite obviously got a hard-on.

‘I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I saw you walk in,’ he says. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’

I don’t mind, and so I grab the hair at the back of his head and pull him in for another go. This time my tongue is in his mouth.

‘Woah, woah!’ he says, as if it’s me that’s taking things too fast. ‘Easy, tiger!’ He takes a step back. ‘Shall we have a drink?’

I don’t want a drink, I want to leave the party right now and go back to his place, my place or any place that’s near, but he grabs two glasses of champagne and hands one to me.

‘So, Robert,’ he says, ‘tell me about yourself.’

I’m not used to this, because most people only want to talk about themselves, but I shouldn’t have worried, because I’ve got no further than ‘I work for a media company …’ than he’s interrupting.

‘I can’t stand parties like this, can you?’ he says, knocking back Hadley’s liquor, which is very good. ‘All these fake people. What do you think?’