‘Best bit,’ I said, placing both hands on the arms of the low, creaky chair and pushing myself up. ‘Let’s go.’ I was sitting with my centre of gravity low and my poor sense of balance made me misjudge the amount of effort I needed to lever myself up. I rose a few centimetres then flopped back, giving an awkward half-laugh, embarrassed by my clumsiness. Matthew turned and said, ‘Come on, Trouble!’ and as I reached out a hand he grabbed it firmly and hauled me, none too gently, upwards and out of the chair’s fond embrace. ‘Honestly,’ he said, affectionately, and pulled me into his arms, in close, one arm around my waist. He put his mouth on mine and my lips parted softly and eagerly and our tongues mingled and I felt my body arch against his, groin to groin. He pulled back and murmured, his voice a low growl, ‘You’d better stop that right now, Dolly Mixture, or there is no way we are seeing that film.’

He turned towards the door, my hand grasped firmly in his, and as we left the room I looked back and caught a glimpse of the photograph of him and Helen and lifted my chin at it. What did it matter whether Matty still had her picture or not? Why would anyone be jealous of an ex, even the one that immediately preceded you? Surely the comparison was always going to be in your favour? Matty held my hand tightly in his as we exited the flat and all the way down the stairs, only releasing it when we stopped at the passenger door to his car and he opened it for me to get in. Before I slid down, I put one of my hands on the side of his face and kissed him on the mouth very briefly, with just the tiniest of teasing pushes of my tongue between his teeth. I bet that Helen didn’t do what I do, I thought, and I wasn’t thinking about her job, or mine.

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