When I walk into the house, Michael is on the armchair facing the door. His computer is on his lap, his head back, his eyes closed. He is exhausted from taking care of Tommy all day. It’s unlike him but I guess he’s having a quick nap before dinner. The house smells delicious. I tiptoe in, then realise he isn’t asleep. He’s moving. His arm is moving. Suddenly he opens his eyes and rolls them back to the computer screen. His lip curls and his arm gets faster.

‘Oh my God, Michael, are you …?’

Sheer panic floods his face. He pushes his penis back into his jeans, sits up straight, but keeps his computer on his lap to hide his crotch.

‘Beth, what are you doing here so early?’

‘I … I just … I finished … What were you watching?’ I ask. Could this be the moment I have been waiting for? He is horny, I am horny? Could we do this together?

‘Nothing. Work stuff,’ he says, his penis obviously softening enough to risk getting up. He carries his computer in front of him into the kitchen, facing away from me, then subtly does up his flies. I know exactly what is happening.

‘Michael, it’s OK. What were you watching?’

‘Work stuff, I told you.’

I look at his computer on the table. What’s he into? If I knew, maybe I could do that for him?’

I come up behind him. I put my hands on his hips. He pulls away and starts tending to the saucepan on the stove. It’s so strange to see him being sexual, but also it excites me. He has a sex drive, this is good. It is progress.

‘How was your day?’ he asks me. His body language and tone making it clear that he will not discuss his masturbation.

‘Michael, it’s OK. Turn around, I’m in the mood too.’

‘Beth, please. Get your hands off me or I’ll burn the dinner. Go and sit on the sofa, this is ready.’

I do as he asks, feeling like I’ve been sent to stand outside the headmistress’ office. I daren’t say another word. He lays my evening meal in front of me. It is chilli con carne. This time, no rice. Just a green salad.

We put on the TV and watch an episode of Killing Eve while we eat. I can barely concentrate. He masturbates but he won’t have sex? What does that mean and what was he watching?

‘Shall we do another episode?’ he asks me when it ends. I say no, I’m tired, and I’d like to go to bed.

‘Me too,’ he says, clearing our plates away and putting them into the dishwasher. ‘Tommy didn’t nap today, I’m exhausted.’