There are a lot of people in the world who you could love.

And so we both took a step back, the funky-but-sweet Spanish knockout and I, because the alternative was chaos.

We would always talk when we saw each other at the school gates but you could feel that dangerous little spark being allowed to fade and die – there was no more coffee, no more looks that lingered for a moment too long. And then she moved away with her family and I never saw her again. So nobody got hurt, when for a moment there was the opportunity of everyone getting hurt.

And as I lay sleepless on the sofa, I thought how Tara would sneer at my platonic flirtation at the school gates. How tame it would seem to her. How pathetically timid. What was the great insult when we were two kids running wild on the music press, Tara?

Lightweight!

That was what we said about those who declined a hit on a joint at the editorial meeting, or who balked at staying up all night, or who showed the first symptoms of wanting to give up sex and drugs and rock and roll – going home at midnight, not getting off your face, keeping your underpants firmly on – and go to that small death called growing up, settling down, getting old.

Lightweights!

I was a lightweight now. I had had my chance for a different life – a good chance with a great woman who was worthy of love – but I didn’t take it. Because I loved my wife and I thought – no, I knew – we were going to spend our lives together. That’s how naïve I was, that’s how stupid.

And when I stopped thinking about the Spanish woman, that’s when I was right there, with Tara and James Caine in that hotel room. His hands on you. I could not close my eyes to that hotel room in Tokyo. His hands on you. His hands on you. His mouth on you. I could see them together. I closed my eyes, I tossed and twisted, but it would not leave me alone. His hands on you. His mouth on you. His tongue on you. The kisses and the clothes coming off, easing himself inside her, the noises of pleasure that she made. The unasked, unanswered questions so obvious, so banal, and so very much like having your skin ripped off.

And was he better?

And did you like him more?

And did you love him, kiddo?

And I was beyond hurt. I was wrecked.

And I wanted to tell her – to tell her to her face – do you think I didn’t have my fucking chances, Tara?

I kicked off the duvet.

Buddy protested with a low canine groan as I got up and went off to our bedroom. Suddenly it was the most important thing in the world – to tell her that I could have been other places too. And they would have been better places than this wretched place I had found with her.