It was hard not to join in as Oliver was so upbeat and persistent. He was difficult to ignore and it seemed rude, after having accepted the lift, not to share a toast. I went into the bedroom to change into jogging pants and sweatshirt. I could hear my guest put on some music.

When he appeared at the door, glass in outstretched hand, I felt a wave of panic.

‘Hey, I’ll be out in a minute,’ I said and tried to hide my naked breasts behind a flimsy camisole.

‘No problem.’ Oliver retreated to the lounge. Yet the damage was done and he’d crossed a line.

The problem with alcohol is that boundaries become ill-defined. I curled up on the sofa with Oliver slouched at one end, and after a couple of drinks gave into the haze of emotional turmoil. We listened to music, chatted about the Penningtons, our future and what we might do with our money. The differing value of our items was the elephant in the room but wasn’t mentioned. Even Oliver didn’t bring it up.

I must have fallen asleep around eleven. I remembered looking at the clock shortly before nine when we switched the television on to hear the latest weather report and I’d a vague recollection of Oliver snuggling in close, holding me tightly as he consoled me and dried away tears from my cheeks. I’d been telling him about Mitch.

I woke up in bed, wearing only a T-shirt. It was four in the morning and my head was pounding. I couldn’t immediately register where I was, and froze when I saw Oliver’s naked body next to me. I slipped out of the bed, grabbed my jogging bottoms which lay on the floor, and went to the bathroom and locked the door. I rifled the cabinet for tablets to help clear the fuzz and throbbing in my head. Disgust and disbelief engulfed me.

‘Rebecca? Rebecca? Are you okay?’ Oliver was outside the door, repeating my name.

As I heaved over the toilet bowl, my mind was in meltdown. What had happened? Why couldn’t I remember? I wasn’t prepared to ask Oliver if we’d had sex but the possibility of rape had taken root. I needed to get rid of him.

When I finally unlocked the door and came out, Oliver was up and dressed and was drinking from a large mug of strong coffee.

‘Fancy one? The kettle’s on.’

‘No thanks.’ I didn’t look at him but went and picked up my sweatshirt which was on the back of the sofa, and pulled it over my head. I was shivering but perspiring at the same time.

‘You don’t look so good. Listen, I’ll go. Maybe you should return to bed. Take a couple of paracetamol.’ He moved towards me but stopped as I stepped backwards.