‘And how exactly are you going to pay for your drugs? I presume escorts can’t just get them on the NHS.’

‘I have my contacts.’

‘What, Hadley? Tell me you’re not going to buy drugs so you can turn tricks in order to pay back the money you stole from the man who is selling you the drugs in the first place?’

‘Oh, what do you know about anything?’ says Jonathan, downing his drink in one and grabbing his revolting hoodie. ‘You think you’re so fucking clever but you don’t know anything about what my life is like, not anything!’

He storms out of the pub and into the street. I wait for half an hour for him to come back, because he might think it worth it for that five hundred quid I said I’d ‘lend’ him, but he doesn’t. I guess this is serious.

On the bus home, I pick up a celebrity magazine that someone’s left lying on the seat, and read all about the fabulous wedding of Lukas to another talent show has-been. They look very tanned and tightened in the photographs, surrounded by other D-listers craning to get in the shot. Presumably they’re hoping that their combined fame will just about keep them going for another year or so, after which they will either renew their vows or sell the story of their divorce and, with luck, custody battle.

So, suddenly Jonathan’s decision to go in for prostitution seems quite rational.

I’m not nearly as drunk as I was hoping to be so when I get home I open a bottle of vodka, and I’m thinking of inviting Michael up for a drink when the buzzer goes.

It’s Stuart.

My stomach churns and tightens, and my first instinct is not to let him in, but of course I can’t do that.

‘What do you want?’ I say when he gets to the top of the stairs.

‘What do you think I want?’ he says, grabbing my tits. ‘You.’

‘Are you high?’

He sticks his grinning face right into mine, and says, ‘Course I am.’

‘For fuck’s sake.’

‘You’re not still angry.’ It’s not a question.

‘Look, Stuart, let’s just … cool it for a couple of days.’

‘I don’t want to cool it. I want to fuck you.’ He’s pushed me into the flat, and got me on to the sofa, and he’s on top of me, kissing my neck, pressing his groin into mine. He’s hard. He’s always hard.

‘I told you …’ It’s very difficult to say no to Stuart when he’s like this, which is most of the time. I still find him as attractive as the first day we met – more so, perhaps. I’m addicted to his sex.

‘I’m not in the mood,’ I say, trying to work my way out from under him, but he knows he’s got me where he wants me, and this show of resistance is one of his favourite hors d’oeuvres. I don’t even know whether I’m doing it deliberately, because the sex will be better, or because I really don’t want sex.