Then he asked me, ‘Are you ready to leave now?’

I looked at the face of the stranger just inches from mine, his eyes twinkled from the alcohol. I knew I was ready.

I collected my coat from the cloakroom on the way past and we headed outside. The quay was alive with people bustling to and from pubs.

I felt his hand slip into mine and the intimacy from a stranger’s touch was addictive. I didn’t want to let go. We walked over to the quay wall.

A boat was arriving back in from a cruise party, a string of fairy lights hung across the deck and on board it was brimming with drunken laughing guests. Two young girls in high heels and tiny short skirts walked past howling and jeering. Ben lit a cigarette and offered me one. I shook my head. He sat and smoked it whilst I leant into him and I could smell the citrus scent of his aftershave and the leather of his jacket that had been lingering next to me all night. I inhaled him like he was a drug. He finished the cigarette and threw it on the floor, half stamped on it and we both watched as the bright ember faded and struggled to remain alight.

He put his arm over my shoulder and pulled me closer to him. I looked up; I could feel the buzz of the alcohol but above and beyond that, an aching intensity that started in the pit of my stomach and soared through my legs and arms, into my neck, across my face and then finally ended where my lips met Bens.

It had been a long time coming, this feeling of completeness.

I had succeeded.

He was all mine.

I had expected to wake up in horror, as I had done countless times, to realise that the shadows of the past few hours had concealed an ugliness of the stranger in my bed, but this time, something was different.

The hazy morning light of my bedroom set a perfect scene as we slowly woke next to one another. Something within me had shifted. I didn’t feel all those feelings of hatred and despair that were the typical by-product of a one-night stand with a stranger. Despite feeling slightly on edge, trying to come to terms with this unfamiliar sensation of wanting to lie next to a man in the morning, it felt almost normal.

Until then, I had forgotten I was capable of feeling normal.

We dressed and went into the lounge where I brought him coffee and toast. I had to press my heels into the floor to stop myself from launching across the table and into his lap.

He slurped his coffee, an action I added to the long list of endearing qualities I was racking up: from the way he rubbed his stubble so it made a scratching noise to the way he double blinked when he was listening intently to me, showing his concentration.