He liked to talk after sex, in the early days. One conversation in particular I remember. We were lying together, still hot and clammy – we had yet to pull the duvet back up over us. We were lying in the traditional position, the one I like best, him on his back, me with my head on his shoulder and one arm across his chest. Sometimes – more often than not, in fact – men fall asleep at this point, which always makes me feel a little deserted. Matty stayed awake, on that occasion anyway, stroking my hair absently with one hand, lifting a handful of it every now and then and letting it fall.

Further on in our relationship, he was to say to me, people always tell the truth just after sex, you know, that’s when their guard is down. But for now, he just said, thoughtfully, ‘Tell me two things. Tell me the thing you are proudest of, and the thing you’re most ashamed of, that you’ve ever done, I mean.’

No man had ever asked me such a question. Correction: no other man had ever asked me such a question after sex, rather than before. It made the other men I had dated seem small and self-absorbed. I felt no shudder of premonition – I loved the fact that he wanted to know the inside of me. He had just been inside me, and yet he still wanted to be there, to find out the inner things, to burrow.

I thought for a bit. I wanted to give a frank answer, not a glib one. ‘Proudest of … I suppose my relationship with my pupils, the fact that every now and then I know I’m doing a good job. You just get a glimpse of it, now and then, with someone who is difficult or having trouble at home, sometimes you’re able to help, teach them well, and, I know it’s not saving lives like you do but sometimes it feels like it, if you know you’ve helped someone get on the right track, just a bit.’

He was quiet after this, as if he was absorbing it, thinking about his own work maybe. I felt a twinge of anxiety that comparing our jobs was a bit presumptuous – after all, he did save lives.

‘And the other thing …’ he said after a while, his voice low.

Again, I took the question seriously. I was determined to be honest with him. I was falling in love.

‘I was walking along a street one day …’ I hesitated.

‘Go on,’ he said. The room seemed very quiet. It was a Sunday afternoon and mild outside, with a light breeze, so I had left the small window open and the curtain curved against it, exhaled. Soon, we would get cold and pull the duvet back up.