‘I think so too,’ he said, holding my eye. I stuck my tongue out at him. Any earlier tension had melted, ebbing and then flowing once again.

We took turns to get changed in the back of the car once we got to Surfers Point – a bikini under my wine-tasting dress would have been the height of trashy – and Bianca pointed out where we could walk to get barbecue from. We asked if she wanted to come down with us to the beach, but she insisted there was a man she needed to see about a dog at a nearby bar, so we wandered out alone.

‘I need to sober up,’ Patrick said. ‘I think I did a little too much swallowing and not quite enough spitting.’

‘That’s what she said,’ I quipped. He snickered.

The water was cold but refreshing, waking up every cell in my body as we swam out from the shore.

‘I really do love the ocean,’ Patrick said. ‘I love how small it makes me feel.’

‘What else do you love?’ I asked. I stopped swimming and turned to float on my back, gently distancing myself from him so I could do a sneaky wee.

‘I love Nina Simone,’ he said, ‘and I love bootcamp. I love volunteering at the literacy charity in Hackney—’

‘You volunteer?’ I said. ‘Patrick! You’re too much!’

He turned to float on his back too. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s a cool thing to do, is all. Volunteering. Is it adults, or …?’

‘Kids.’

‘And he’s good with kids as well, ladies and gentlemen,’ I announced to an invisible crowd.

‘I don’t know why me not being an arsehole continues to be a surprise,’ Patrick said. ‘I can’t be the only person in your life who volunteers.’

‘You’re not,’ I replied. ‘Adzo goes into schools sometimes, to speak about Black women in science, and Freddie reads to a pensioner in the old people’s home once a week. I used to help run student support services at university, but I suppose once I started working I thought I didn’t have time anymore.’

I flipped back over onto my stomach, changing to a slow breaststroke back in the direction of the shore.

‘That’s fair enough. You are a pretty big deal. I don’t think I even knew theoretical scientists were real, let alone that I’d ever meet one.’

He followed me in a front crawl.

‘I sort of fell into it, really,’ I told him. ‘I’d have liked to have done some more acting, or looked at psychology. Being a therapist would have been cool. But when I finished school the arts were becoming saturated and there were loads of science jobs opening up because of EU grants, and then poof! Ten years later and it’s my thing. That feels a bit stupid, sometimes. The job is okay, but …’

‘You don’t enjoy it?’