I invent a backstory as his questions roll in and I fire back a few of my own. Here’s what I learn about Daniel in the next sixty-four minutes and four pints: his mother was a nurse but now she’s unwell; his father is a mechanic; he went to a small country primary school but a big all-boys high school where he used to get into fights; he wanted to be an engineer but later decided against it. His childhood best friend, Iso, lost a finger in a pig-hunting accident. He’s never done drugs before, not even smoked weed. He had one girlfriend until his mid-twenties, and the break-up was messy. He’s not sure if he’s looking for anything serious but ‘could change for the right girl’.

‘And that’s where I come in?’

‘Maybe,’ he says. He’s adequately liquored and his advances are becoming more overt. ‘It’s hard to say after an hour of drinking but…’ Again, that shyness. He continues, ‘I think I like you.’ I lean a little closer to him. Then his hand is on my thigh slipping higher and my forearm rests over his shoulder, my thumb sliding along the hard edge of his jaw. Despite being seated, he is swaying a little. His eyes half closed. I block out the guilt. Ignore it. I concentrate on my body instead. I’m ready, I need this.

‘Okay, let’s go,’ he whispers into my ear, filling it with his hot boozy breath.

I place my free hand on his thigh, feeling the muscle beneath, then I bring it up near his belt buckle.

‘Oh, you’re ready now, are you?’ I say, my mouth moving close to his. Then suddenly, almost violently, he is kissing me. My hand gropes at him and I can feel his blunt fingers force their way down the plunged back of my dress, searching for something to squeeze.

I pull away, breathless.

‘Come on.’

‘Ladies first,’ he slurs, again with that drunken smile.

I feel much safer walking the streets now but wonder if I should.

‘Down here.’ We walk past the park and those houses, almost all of which are dark now. I act as a crutch, holding him up as he stumbles along until he turns abruptly into a house and leads us up to the front door. He fishes in his pocket for the keys, dropping them, then scooping them back up.

‘Let me do it,’ I say, opening my palm to take them from him. The anticipation is growing.

He holds them out by the map of New Zealand key ring and I snatch them.