I deliberately dressed down for the evening in casual trousers and loose-fitting shirt. My flat shoes were perhaps a mistake because, in hindsight, height might have afforded me an advantage.

‘How’s the photography going?’ Bob asked Oliver over coffee. The home-made carrot soup followed by beef stew and sherry trifle lay heavily on my stomach.

‘Very well, thanks. I’ve done some great shoots recently,’ Oliver said.

I remember his large hands that evening and their attempt at delicacy as he tried to grip the small coffee cup. I averted my eyes to stop from giggling. Mitch and I shared amazement at the size of Oliver’s extremities, likening his physique to that of the abominable snowman. In private we nicknamed him the Yeti.

‘What sort of photos?’ Emily asked.

‘People mainly, although I’ve done some wildlife. Birds. Rare birds.’ Oliver smiled at me. For a moment I sensed things were taking a strange turn. ‘My friend Mitch introduced me to the art of twitching. He taught me a thing or two about the rarer species. Did you know that, Rebecca?’

Oliver’s hand clamped over mine.

‘I didn’t know you were into bird watching.’ I felt sick. My stomach growled from the excesses. Bird watching was Mitch’s secret pleasure. Oliver’s interest had never been mentioned. I was missing something.

I excused myself and went to the bathroom. Small white hand towels sporting peach embroidered initials E and B hung neatly from a rail. I wet the back of my neck willing the nausea to abate and rubbed toothpaste round the inside of my mouth.

‘Are you okay?’

I jumped. Oliver rapped on the door.

‘Yes I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.’

The extractor fan whirred in the silence. I waited for Oliver to move away. I was desperate to leave, get home. Another couple of hours and I could banish Oliver from my life forever.

We left shortly after that. Oliver waited for me to speak.

‘I didn’t know you were into photography,’ I said as we approached the end of my road. It would soon all be over but something made me probe.

‘There’s probably quite a bit you don’t know about me. I’ve got some wonderful pictures I can show you some time.’ Oliver parked up and turned off the engine. The headlights dulled.

‘I need the bathroom. Do you mind if I come up? Maybe a quick coffee.’

There are moments in time, moments we look back on and say, ‘if only’. This was one of those times. Whether Oliver would have accepted a rejection for a late-night coffee and a chance to use the bathroom will always haunt me. Perhaps I could have hopped out. I could have thanked him and said I was tired; another time perhaps.