Romance wasn’t Liam’s thing. Compliments weren’t either, though he did once whisper, ‘That’s amazing,’ while I was giving him a blow job. That was the only time in two years that he used a top-tier enthusiastic adjective. (I don’t include ‘favourite’, from that first email he sent me, in which he told me I was his favourite comedian.)

On our first date, at the Hourglass in Rawndesley, we each bought our own drinks: a red wine for him and a brandy for me. There were royal blue upholstered booths along two walls. Liam pointed to a free one and said, ‘Let’s sit there,’ when he saw me heading for one of the round tables near the window. From this, I gathered that he wanted privacy.

He sat next to me in the booth instead of opposite as I’d expected him to. I opened my mouth to start chatting at the exact moment that I felt his hand on my thigh. I ran through all the obvious checks in my mind: is it definitely his hand? Could it be there by accident? How do I feel about this?

It was, without doubt, the least annoying thing he’d done since writing to introduce himself. His fingers on my skin were an interesting proposition, until he pressed them in harder, like someone testing an avocado for ripeness. Without lowering his voice, he asked, ‘Is this okay?’

‘Is what okay?’ I fired back in my best superior voice.

‘This,’ he said as he reached up and pulled my underwear to one side. ‘I can stop if you don’t like it.’ I’d worn my best lingerie, telling myself this was only because it was closest to the top of the drawer.

‘Let me see,’ I said, running a quick check on my feelings to see if I hated him. The results were unclear. I suspected my reaction was a false negative, as I believe they say in scientific circles. ‘It’s better than your crap opinions about comedy,’ I concluded aloud.

‘I can stop talking altogether if you like?’ he suggested as he pushed his fingers inside me.

‘Yes. I …’ I gasped. ‘I’d like it if you could stop talking shit, yes. And emailing me your ill-informed opinions.’

‘You turned up tonight in spite of the shit I’ve been talking,’ Liam pointed out.

‘Yes, but not for any reason that reflects well on you.’ I raised my left hand and waved my wedding ring in front of his face. ‘I’m finding my husband annoying at the moment. I’d probably have come out to meet a Morris dancer. Or one of those people whose hobby is researching their family history.’

‘Why’s your husband annoying?’ Liam asked, stroking away quite expertly.