I’d realised this early on, with Calvin. We were lounging in his conservatory eating macaroons. It was April and unseasonably cold; outside, the swimming pool was still shrouded. We were talking about the most lawless thing we’d ever done. I confessed to shoplifting a bag of Maltesers.

Calvin said that he’d done a spot of joyriding when he was a teenager. Once, driving alone in an old jalopy somewhere in the Blue Mountains, he’d seen an empty car parked on the side of the road.

‘A red Mercedes 190 SL convertible, what a beaut. She was parked on the edge, this big drop below.’ He took a bite of macaroon. ‘So I stopped my car, got out, walked across the road, released the handbrake and pushed her over the edge. Then I got back into my car and drove off.’

I stared at him. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘’Cos I could.’

‘That’s a terrible thing to do.’

‘You bet.’ He dabbed his forefinger into the crumbs on his plate. I watched him suck his finger and lean back in his chair.

‘Did you tell anybody?’

‘You joking?’ He saw my expression. ‘Baby, I was totally out of control back then. I’m amazed I didn’t go to jail.’

I was half horrified and half thrilled by this confession. ‘Have you told anyone since?’

‘Nope.’

‘Not even Angie?’

He shook his head. ‘She wasn’t that sort of girl.’

I decided to take this as a compliment. The coke-snorting Angie, who’d mutated into a climate activist, now morphed into a pursed-lipped goody two-shoes. I couldn’t get a grip on her at all.

‘Well, it certainly puts my bag of Maltesers into perspective,’ I said.

Needless to say, I was deeply curious about Angie. In fact, it was becoming something of an obsession, though I was wise enough to keep this to myself. They’d renovated their house together. What was Angie’s taste and what was his? According to Calvin, the folksy, buttercup-­yellow kitchen, with its gingham curtains and double Aga, was Angie’s pride and joy. It was actually rather nice. Their bedroom, in which we slept, was also frilly and feminine. It overlooked her horse’s stable and the notorious hot tub. The walk-in wardrobe was empty but Angie’s spirit still lingered. In the bathroom, photographs of her in her modelling days hung on the wall. Of course she was beautiful—long blond hair, wide cheekbones, sexy cat’s face. I spent a long time gazing at her while Calvin waited for me in bed.