‘For you?’ she asked him. Either the girl was a comedian, or she was so used to living on an island predominantly populated by gay men that it was not an unusual request for a guy.

Josh laughed. ‘No, no, for my …’ And then he paused mid-thought and looked at me as if to say, ‘my what?’ Then he recovered with: ‘friend.’ Wonderful. It wasn’t that I thought he should refer to me as his girlfriend or anything, but perhaps ‘lover’? ‘Friend’ would have been fine too if he hadn’t got stuck deciding what label to put on us.

I pretended none of it mattered and smiled my best smile at the pretty Greek girl. Josh’s charm must have worked on her, because she had put down her iPhone, and had even come around to the other side of the counter!

She looked me up and down, scrutinising me. Had we been in another context – let’s say, a nightclub – and she had looked at me with that critical look on her face, I probably would have bitch-slapped her. That is, if I’d had a few drinks and she had called me a ‘fat cow’ or something. I am not a woman who goes around bitch-slapping willy-nilly.

‘You have a great body,’ she declared when the scrutiny was over. Ohhh, so not about to call me a ‘fat cow’. I decided not to bitch-slap her and to take it as a compliment. I noticed Josh nodding in agreement, which I also took as a compliment.

She began pulling stuff off the racks, piling them up across one of her arms. ‘This – and this. Oh, and this.’ When it looked like her tiny, stick arm couldn’t bear to hold another item of clothing, she tipped her head at me as if to say, ‘Come.’

I followed her to the back of the shop where there was a small makeshift changing room with a full-length mirror. When I caught sight of myself, I was a little taken aback. I had a glow about me that said, ‘sun-kissed and recently shagged.’ I looked pretty, if I’m completely honest – and apparently, I also had a great body, as assessed by a fashion professional and my new lover.

‘Try these,’ she commanded, pulling the curtain across tautly. I barely knew where to begin, but I decided on the dress. It was long and made of the type of cotton that’s all crinkly and hugs to you.

There were slits up both sides, it was all the colours of a sunset, and it looked as though the fabric had been hand-dyed. Maybe it had.

I shimmied out of my boat-soiled shorts and top and stepped into the dress. When I pulled it up my body, I realised I would need to go braless, because it only had tiny spaghetti straps to hold it up. I wiggled out of my bra and pulled the thin straps over my shoulders.