They changed places; the redhead knelt in front of Will, pulling his trousers down, exposing his arse, the arse that she had admired so many times, kneading the buttocks, exploring, caressing . . . Will’s hands rubbed the short-cropped red hair, pulling him inwards, fucking his mouth.

Isabelle was wet, fingering herself, and suddenly, unaccountably, starving hungry for the first time in weeks. The Valium fog was clearing. This was not entirely welcome. All her appetites, all her feelings, seemed to be returning at once.

Will lifted the other by his armpits, kissed him roughly on the mouth, turned him around, yanked his trousers and bent him over the table. The redhead struggled and kicked to free his feet, pulling his shoes awkwardly through his trousers, finally freeing one. Will kicked his feet apart, and fumbled with a condom packet, tearing it open with his teeth, spitting the foil on to the floor, spitting into his hand and rubbing around the other man’s arse.

This is what he wants, thought Isabelle. This is what he does.

Will thrust forward and grunted, and the redhead sighed as if in relief. The black satin slipped and skidded over the surface of the cutting table with every thrust.

Isabelle felt tears running down her face, soaking into the warm, dirty duvet cover. She stuck out her tongue and tasted salt.

They were getting faster, harder, their bodies striving, Will’s feet planted firmly between the other’s, his hips slamming and slapping into the white buttocks.

The man swore – ‘oh, fuck’ – again and again, and then Will slammed into him one last time, held his breath, let it out in a great long ‘sssssshhhhhhhhhh’, and they lay still, panting, Will bent over the other’s body, his back heaving.

Isabelle came silently.

They wiped up, dressed and left quickly, giggling like schoolboys.

Isabelle took a Valium, washed it down with half a bottle of red wine and slept for hours.

She woke vaguely to the sound of the door buzzer, then slept again.

It was the phone that woke her properly, a text arriving. From Will.

Happy Xmas Princess! Guess what? We’ve got that 4k sponsorship. Tell you all tomorrow. Best to your mum. XXX

So that’s who it was.

She got up, surveyed the wreckage of the cutting table, the stained, creased satin, useless now for anything other than mopping up spilt coffee. Unless she made a feature of it . . . A huge semen stain right at the front . . . Instead of beading on the bodice . . .

She laughed until she cried again, and sat down quickly, weak with hunger.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed an envelope stuck under the door.

A Christmas card, hand delivered, a cartoon picture of penguins having a snowball fight.

Love from Dan.