He frowns. ‘But you said start with something small! And, we should start at the bottom.’ He waggles his eyebrows. ‘I thought this was perfect! You’re not telling me you don’t wear undies?’ His eyes are positively twinkling, deep dimples frame his mouth. I stop myself staring.

‘Of course, I wear knickers! I don’t wear them with you, no, no I don’t mean that!’ He’s enjoying this far too much. ‘I don’t buy them when you’re there, and I don’t go in shops like that!’ My knicker buying is online, from the privacy of my bedroom – or from Marks and Spencer or Matalan – multi-pack bikini style. Tried and trusted. ‘I was thinking jewellery when I said start with something small!’

‘You’re kidding me.’ His face falls, puppy-dog style. ‘Confidence starts from within, and this is as close to within as I’m going to—’

‘Stop it!’

‘Can’t you just go and browse for—’

‘No!’

‘You’re such a spoilsport.’ He heaves a sigh of resignation and I’m not sure if he’s genuinely upset or winding me up. ‘This was the fantasy part.’

‘It’s about my fantasies not yours!’

‘I don’t even have to see them on, off is fine, it’s just the thought …’ I growl at him. ‘Okay, okay.’

‘Hey, Noah!’

Shit, the door of the shop is open and we’re being waved at rather vigorously by a girl with immovable boobs (good advert for the job), perfect lipstick, perfect eyebrows and even more perfect flicky eyeliner.

I need to point out at this point that this is no discount knicker store. This is the works, the type of place I normally sidle past and pretend not to look. The one time I did look and leaned in closer to look at the quite pretty camisole top (wondering if Robbie might appreciate a bit of Christmas glamour), the accompanying price tag made me hyperventilate. I’d been thinking ‘there’s not much to it, but I don’t mind stretching to a tenner’, reality was I’d have had to cancel the hairdresser, my festive nails and most possibly the turkey. We’d have been left with stuffing, sprouts and a sexy top he might not have even noticed.

This is an expensive, silk and satin, flimsy lace, red and black stuff type of lingerie shop. The type where glamorous assistants insist on measuring you and pulling ‘I wouldn’t if I were you’ faces when you eye up anything skimpy, before they offer the type of bra that could keep a blancmange immobile for the duration of a 100 metre hurdle sprint.

‘Are you coming in?’ This is getting awkward. Miss Perfect boobs and eyebrows is waiting.

Noah raises a questioning eyebrow at me.

‘You go if you want, I’ll er go and look at shoes next door. I like shoes!’ I say brightly.

‘What?’

‘My inner self is not lurking in my crotch,’ I hiss at him, while trying to smile at the girl, ‘nobody is going to see my …’

‘Really?’ He looks shocked. ‘But I thought that was the point?’