After supper one evening, my girlfriend started to cry. She sobbed intently, drowning the top of my shirt with her tears. She said there was no real reason. It was just ‘things’. There was a sense of sadness and resignation about her.

I didn’t push or pry too deeply but simply asked if she’d like me to stay. I’d be happy with the sofa. She took my hand and led me into her bedroom where she patted the sheets. I slipped in beside her, the most natural thing in the world. At last she was mine.

‘Gone with the Wind is on at the new cinema in Barnet at the weekend. Do you fancy going?’

It was the Monday night after ‘consummation Saturday’ as I referred to the event. There was a slight pause before she answered; nothing sinister.

‘Yes, that sounds nice. Something different,’ she said. Perhaps it was paranoia but I sensed her lack of enthusiasm. Something different wasn’t the best choice of words.

‘I know it’s your favourite. Friday or Saturday? Name the day and I’ll get the tickets.’

‘Saturday would be nice as I’m going to see Jodi and Taylor on Friday.’

It wasn’t the time to discuss her girlfriends, both in the unsuitable choice of companions but, more importantly, I wouldn’t be cast aside much longer in favour of girly outings to the pub with lesbian freaks.

I ticked off the hours until Saturday, popping round at midnight each night to make sure Rebecca was safely tucked up in bed. All went according to plan. As I mellowed, I thought perhaps I should meet her friends next time rather than letting her go out alone.

The cinema was packed. I would have preferred an evening in front of the television sharing popcorn for two, cocooned from intruders. Rebecca was quiet, slightly offhand, but I tried not to overanalyse things as we settled down in front of the screen.

‘I need to get out. I don’t feel too well,’ Rebecca announced towards the end of the film. She seemed to be having a panic attack, her breath rasping, or perhaps it was asthma.

I was happy to leave as romantic films leave me cold. ‘I’ll come with you,’ I said and stood up.

I’m not sure why she so vehemently pushed me down. A wave of anger threatened confrontation. I let her go, waited five minutes, and followed. The rancid stench of stale drink and sickly confectionery aggravated my mood. Popcorn littered my route to the foyer.

At first I couldn’t find her. For one awful moment I thought she’d gone home, without me. A searing red-hot rage shot through me and I struggled for control. Then I spotted her pink jumper. She was outside in the freezing cold.