Was it really a desire for understanding on my part – or the less noble thought that came out of that afternoon’s small incident: if something happens, this man can look after me? How deep that goes in our DNA, how seductive it is – is there a woman alive who hasn’t known since she was a small girl that there are things and people out there that can hurt her? The thought of handing over responsibility for our personal safety – isn’t it just so hard, in our tired and teary moments, not to want that? We all get exhausted, from time to time, men and women both, we all have our moments of weakness – and don’t men have their own equivalent, like the moment when Matty had laid his head on my shoulder as I let us into the building after our night at Spaghettini? What was that, if not a desire to abdicate, momentarily at least?

Perhaps I had a little of my own delayed shock, even though I had received nothing more than a small bump on the head – even a small bump was anxiety-provoking for me, given my medical history. In truth, I was a little disappointed Matty hadn’t made more of a fuss of me once we got home and all at once I, too, was exhausted by the events of a day that had begun so ordinarily, with a chest of drawers and making coffee for my mum; with a short drive and a conversation about a haircut – perhaps I was exhausted by my own sudden understanding. I loved this man who had come into my life, loved his unpredictability and his strange moods and his sudden weaknesses, and it was always going to be difficult, because if you were going to love someone who dealt with life and death and whose day was a constant round of dramas and adrenaline, then you had to go with the flow, their flow, that much was obvious to me now. You couldn’t use your own small dramas to compete with their ups and downs. It was like being on a boat that was being lifted and dropped by the swell of the sea. You just had to point your bow into the rise of the wave and go with it.

I was proud of myself for bringing that metaphor to mind. I’d learnt the thing about waves on a sea-kayaking trip with a group of friends from my BA Education course, a weekend adventure I had agreed to, rashly, in a spirit of feel-the-fear-and-do-it-anyway. I had hated every minute, particularly the journey back, as the swell of the sea grew beneath us. You mustn’t panic, when the sea starts to swell, and you must never let the waves take you broadside, you’ll flip over. Be brave, point your bow into an oncoming swell, and ride it even if it takes the bow of your boat upwards until it points at the sky. I was frightened then and I was frightened now, but I was a thirty-five-year-old secondary teacher – I’d had enough of life being ordinary and I couldn’t afford to take six months off and visit Australia or India. Matty was going to be my adventure instead.