That night, back at my flat, Matthew held the back of my neck, pressing my face down into the white cotton sheet that was stretched taut over the mattress. I had to twist my head sideways to breathe. In the middle of it, he lowered his head over the back of mine and started making barking noises and I said, ‘Matthew, that’s not funny.’ It seemed to be taking a long time. He couldn’t be drunk, surely, he’d driven us home. I still felt nauseous – that rosé didn’t agree with me, I thought, or maybe it was all that fried stuff. I always eat too much when I’m drunk. I was tired and it was a Thursday and I had a full day’s teaching the next day. Matthew fell silent, his breathing harsh and effortful. I wanted to ask him to stop, but his rhythm was hard and I kept thinking he was about to finish and it seemed silly to stop him if he was nearly there. After what felt like a long while, he flopped down against me and lay still – it felt as though he had given up rather than come. I stayed motionless. He rolled off me and lay on his back, half on the sheet, half on top of the duvet.

I lay still for a while, listening for clues. After a moment, he began to snore. I slipped off the bed, gingerly, and tiptoed to the bathroom, where I closed the door silently behind me. I was still wearing the dress I had worn that evening – Matthew had pulled off my tights and knickers when we got in. After I had been to the loo – leaving the flush in case it disturbed him – I went to the sink and splashed my face with water. I emptied the toothbrushes out of the holder and rinsed it a couple of times, filled it with cold water and then drank from it in one long gulp, thinking of my 7 a.m. alarm, knowing I would need more water, and tea, and toast, before I left the house. Matty didn’t have to be up in the morning, he was on a late turn. It felt a bit unfair that he was the one getting a lie-in after my birthday booze-up but he’d be making up for it later so I could hardly object.