I snap open my eyes and get quite a surprise. Ajay is standing next to the bed, an amused expression on his face.

‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’

‘What are you doing here?’ I sit up quickly and get a sudden rush of blood to the head.

He rubs his chin, pretending to think for a minute. ‘Hmm, buying a bed?’

I suppose I did ask for that.

‘I’m joking.’ He smiles, and I’m reminded of what a lovely smile he has. ‘I saw you in the window, when I was walking past to get a sandwich for lunch. Quite some window display.’

I feel my cheeks colour. God, this is awkward. It’s a couple of months since our disaster of a date and my promise to call Ajay back.

‘Look, about that drink – I know I said I was going to call.’

He puts up a hand and shakes his head. ‘You don’t have to explain.’

I smile gratefully, relieved he’s being so nice about it. ‘Thanks,’ I say, only now I feel bad. I should have called back. How many times did I berate men for not doing that, when I was younger?

Yet, in reality, what could I have said? I didn’t want to lie – I’ve been lied to and it sucks, as Maya would say, but that left only the truth. And the truth is that once I’d got over my hang-up about our age gap, I hadn’t expected to like Ajay as much as I did; that he was interesting, and interested in me; that he was far too handsome and I was intimidated; that I was flattered and vaguely embarrassed, and still suffering the aftershocks of my divorce, when I would be fine and trundling along and then, every once in a while, I would catch myself and my situation and think: how could it be that everything I knew was gone, and I’m single and starting over?

Exactly.

Just the kind of fun, flirty phone call that a man wants to have after a first date. Ajay would have hung up and run a mile, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. And so it was decided: it was all too scary and too uncertain; I don’t like uncertainty, it makes me anxious. And Ajay brought with him a whole bunch of uncertainty.

‘So, did you make a decision?’

We’re interrupted by the salesman who, having finished with the other couple, circles back.

‘Yes, I think so.’ I nod, and Ajay gives me a look.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. I just wanted to say hi.’ He takes his hands out of his trouser pockets and gives me a little wave. ‘And bye.’

‘Bye,’ I nod, raising a hand.

‘OK, wonderful. Well, if you’d like to follow me to the payment point, we can start taking all your details . . .’

The salesman is talking and leading me away and I follow him, only now I feel all discombobulated. Because I had certainty, didn’t I? I got married, we made promises to each other, and I thought it was for ever. I watch Ajay leave the shop and disappear down the high street. Only it turned out that love – unlike mattresses – doesn’t come with a lifetime guarantee.