He noticed, obviously, and went out of his way to be good about it—to be enthusiastic and good-humoured and charming about the whole thing, soothing awkwardness and uncertainty, letting Sapphire needle him verbally in a way he did seem to enjoy and which certainly made her feel better. He went down on her for a long time, and then said, “Listen, if this isn’t going to work for you, then I’d rather know what would,” which was really quite sweet of him, certainly above average in her experience of one-off hookups with straight men. He followed instructions well after that, and didn’t get awkward or insecure about digging the bullet vibrator out of Sapphire’s bedside drawer. All the benefits of age and experience, in other words. Perfectly nice sex. Very worthwhile. Scratching the itch, hopefully for good, Sapphire thought afterwards; finally, there’s that out of my system.

And it was late, and though she was out of the habit of sharing a bed, Mark was large and warm and not unwelcome company on a December night. Rolling over and going to sleep was much easier than the fuss of kicking him out and then sorting out her hot water bottle. It would probably be unkind to kick him out, anyway.

So morning came. Sapphire—Walden—was prepared for it to be a little awkward, in the way she remembered these things. But she woke up alone, in the dark. Her alarm clock said it was a little before seven; late for a school day, but much too early to be awake in the holidays. The bed was still warm, and she hadn’t bothered getting dressed again after they were done. Her dressing gown on the hook in the bathroom seemed a dreadfully long way away. She pulled the covers up tighter and tried to go back to sleep.

Possibly she dozed a little. Next time she paid attention to the morning, there was watery winter light visible around the edge of the curtains, and she could hear the shower running. It was already half past eight. She sat up.

Mark came in with wet hair and her faded old yellow towel around his waist a bit later. Yes, he’s good-looking, Walden told herself crossly. It’s out of your system, thank you. “Good morning,” she said.

“Morning,” said Mark. “Mistimed it, haven’t I? I was going to chivalrously bring you a cup of tea.”

“Coffee, please, if it’s on offer,” Walden said. “All in the kitchen—assuming you can work the press.”

“I think I can handle it,” said Mark.