Ommm.

It wasn’t even polyamory for me – I was in a double-monogamous bind. But I would rail against it. I, too, would be ethically promiscuous, tie myself in knots with a string of lovers … No, that issue was settled now, not really. Ommm.

I’d already calculated that the greatest number of women I could have an ongoing intimate relationship with was three, provided the as yet unknown third had no feelings, opinions or ambitions and was happy to meet up fortnightly somewhere on my commute to or from work to have sex for ten minutes before sending me off on my bike.

Sarah came into the room, smiled, started putting away the clothes I’d folded.

Online dating hadn’t existed when we met – and that was the problem. No matter how many people told me it was shit, I still wanted to give it a go.

I asked Sarah, ‘Will you do it, then?’

‘I don’t know if it’s for me,’ she said. ‘Zac said you’re supposed to write a little tagline for yourself and I’m not really into that.’

I folded Oliver’s pants on the bed. ‘It’s not going to be difficult though, is it? The platform’s the context. Clearly, you’d be on there looking to meet someone.’

‘I suppose …’ She turned to me, eyes glinting. ‘What about … oh no, god, that’s really bad. Wait … ’ She looked at the ceiling, back at me. ‘No, I’m bad at this.’

Heartbeat … ‘We can do it together. Where’s your phone?’ I knew where it was, of course: the kitchen windowsill, where she’d left it approximately seventeen minutes earlier after drying the dishes. It had pinged once, buzzed once.

She left the room. I gathered the dampest of the clothes into a pile. Setting Sarah up so that randos could contact her, treat her … nicely, that could happen, or not nicely, if that’s what she wanted. It was up to her. Fuck off, Chris, you patriarchal putz.

She returned, sat next to me on the bed, unlocked her phone. ‘I feel a bit nervous.’

‘Oh yeah?’ I downloaded the app, opened it, looked at the set-up steps. ‘So, you’ll need some photos.’

Shoulders slumping. ‘I look terrible in my photos.’

‘You never look terrible.’ I’d bang her senseless if she wanted me.

‘I do.’

‘Well, let’s see …’ I opened her photo app, scrolled, already knew all the photos by heart, knew there were no selfies of her with Vernon, none with Assi, none with Mick or Valentino. I’d twice bought extra cloud storage for all the photos of Biddy and me doing dress-ups, kissing, at gigs, so many gigs, so many shows, none of which I’d paid for.