During such exchanges, he felt bound to point out to her that if they were not communicating well it was because Claire was refusing to engage in communication. She was talking calmly, even plausibly, and to an outsider this would all sound reasonable, but not to David. He knew, with absolute certainty, that what she was saying was a dodge, and he felt insulted, and told her so. How could she present this stuff about sex being mental and emotional as if she were unusual in that – as if sex were not mental and emotional for him? Did she think he was a robot? A dog?

At some point during this conversation, she would have begun to cry. Her cheeks wet, almost chafed-looking, she would tell him that the birth control pills and the antidepressants she was taking had suppressed her libido and made her breasts sore and caused her to gain weight (not true, in David’s eyes), which made her body feel alien to her, and exacerbated the anxiety she already felt about her nakedness. And, she would add, there was also the basic problem of the flat being cold and damp. She knew he didn’t think it was important, but it was to her. No matter how long the storage heaters had been running, as soon as her skin was exposed to the air it broke out in goosebumps that rendered her unable to appreciate other sensations. All she wanted was to dress herself again.

‘I’m sorry,’ she would weep. ‘I’m not giving you what you want. My body just won’t co-operate.’

How could he argue with this? He was not a chauvinist. He understood that his partner was not at his beck and call; that the world placed enough pressure on Claire’s flesh already without him adding to it. How could he articulate his deep conviction – that she would be happier if she addressed her issues with sex – without sounding as if he was manipulating her into meeting his needs by presenting them as her own? So he released the pressure: he put his arms around her and said, ‘Come on, I love you, please stop crying, please don’t be upset,’ and things like that.