After Mitch appeared on the scene, Oliver never stood a chance. His muscular rugby-playing physique, with mandatory broken nose and misshapen but mildly endearing cauliflower ears, had enticed me as a willing companion to the rugby club but I never really considered him as more than a friend. Three years down the line, Oliver still seemed to believe a ‘happy ever after’ might be possible.

I peeked through the window, jumping back when I saw Oliver’s gargantuan outline hovering inside near the glass. He was hanging Christmas lighting round the wooden frames and muscled aside as I tentatively pushed open the door.

He beamed when he saw me. ‘Hi. Thought we ought to make an effort, seeing as Roger’s coming in. He’s asked us for lunch by the way.’

‘You’re early. I thought you weren’t coming in till later.’ I peeled off my gloves, stuffed them in my coat and hung it on the wooden stand in the corner.

‘You sound disappointed,’ Oliver said. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me? Here, hand me up the white lights. They’re in the box by the desk.’

He perched precariously on a small wooden stool and wobbled in theatrical delight as he stretched out his left arm and pointed towards the tawdry decorations.

It took an hour to liven up the dimly lit studio. Oliver flirted tirelessly, proffering lively quips and innuendoes about Santa Claus and stocking tops. He less than subtly made sure our hands brushed each time we hung up another string of lights. Recently I’d begun to find something darkly repellent about the thick black hairs on the back of his hands and also those that crept up from his chest like ivy creepers, clinging savagely to his thick neck.

I should have been flattered by the attention but I felt uneasy. Oliver knew I was still with Mitch, or did he? Perhaps Mitch had hinted that something was wrong, that our relationship was cooling off. It crossed my mind that Oliver might have Mitch’s blessing to take the prize.

Roger arrived around midday, donned in a velvet-collared great coat, carrying a weathered Gucci briefcase. His softly greying hair was drizzled with snowflakes. As he took off the layers, he invited Oliver and me into his private office to talk business. This never took long as Roger always seemed satisfied by our efforts.

It wasn’t only the moneyed background that endeared us to our boss but Oliver and I were both from backgrounds that had taught us to respect our elders and we automatically treated Roger with the deference that his forty-two years demanded. However, his recent attempts at using his authority to inveigle inclusion into some of our more riotous social outings left me feeling slightly unnerved.