He puts the kettle on, then removes the kikoi from his waist and goes to the window. He stands there brazenly. Outside the house, the eco-village’s goat, Cumberbatch (which means someone who lives in a valley divided by a stream, chosen collectively after several nights of heated debate), gives a high bleat and, inside, I stare at Jesse Marlon’s impressive physique, noting that his buttocks are pitched at exactly the same jutting angle as those of Michaelangelo’s David.

Then he gathers up the material and uses his kikoi to cover the window. For one brief moment, before the room is darkened, Jesse Marlon stands framed in the picture window, proud in his nakedness.

As I admire him, something flits uncomfortably across my mind. Mimi was right. Ceci and Pierre do know about me and Jesse Marlon. Not to mention Mirabel and all Ceci’s friends. God knows how. Indeed, it is the talk of the village, if not three counties.

At Acland’s, yesterday, I happen to know that Ceci and Mirabel were texting each other, their silenced mobiles presumably set to vibrate, while sitting next to each other during the TLN (total living nightmare) of double maths. I hacked into her inbox, and there it all was.

To: Miri (who is Mirabel Fleming, of course)

Can’t tell u wot its like @ home. Mum’s with that butters

Spodden’s nark. Jeez

To: Ceci

Is she shagging him? He’s well fit. Wotabt your

Dad??xxx

To: Miri

He’s cool. Don’t think he’s noticed em copping off xx

To: Ceci

Eh??!!! Y yr Dad dont care?

To: Miri

Really bizy 24/7. Hate them both so much right now!

I8trzz, LOL xxx

At this point, though, I don’t care.

I make a low sound in my throat. I am lying down, but have my head up on one arm. Jesse Marlon turns round.

I am able to give myself up, because I have flipped that switch in my head from Pierre to Jesse Marlon, I have enabled the switching action that is necessary in the female to persuade herself that the imminent betrayal of her partner is not succumbing lustfully to temptation, but is, in fact, the only safe and sensible option available.

JM comes over and pushes me gently back down on the fake fur. I try to rise up to kiss him – it’s so lovely, the kissing – but he pushes me down, again. He likes to kiss me all over before he does anything else. He starts with my eyes, and plants a tender kiss on each lid.

The house is completely quiet. There are no boilers or pipes clanking, no fridges humming, no radios playing, no telephones ringing, no doorbell ringing. It all feels calm, in Jesse Marlon’s house. That’s because it is calm, marooned in mud and hills, and utterly removed from the modern world of getting and spending.