‘This is a nice apartment.’

‘Well, if an estate agent can’t find himself a decent flat, what’s the world coming to?’

She had an overnight bag with her; she took off her clothes in the bathroom and came back in a nightdress. They climbed into bed and he turned out the light. She felt very tense to him. He felt very tense to himself.

‘We could just cuddle,’ he suggested.

‘What is cuddle?’

He demonstrated.

‘So cuddle is not fucking?’

‘No, cuddle is not fucking.’

‘OK, cuddle.’

After that they relaxed, and she soon fell asleep.

The next time, after some kissing, he reacquainted himself with the lubricated struggle of the condom. He knew he was meant to unroll it, but found himself trying to tug it on like a sock, pulling at the rim in a haphazard way. Doing it in the dark didn’t help either. But she didn’t say anything, or cough discouragingly, and eventually he turned towards her. She pulled up her nightie and he climbed on top of her. His mind was half filled with lust and fucking, and half empty, as if wondering what he was up to. He didn’t think about her very much that first time. It was a question of looking out for yourself. Later you could look out for the other person.

‘Was that OK?’ he said after a while.

‘Yes, was OK.’

Vernon laughed in the dark.

‘Are you laughing at me? Was not OK for you?’

‘Andrea,’ he said, ‘everything’s OK. Nobody’s laughing at you. I won’t let anyone laugh at you.’ As she slept, he thought: we’re starting again, both of us. I don’t know what she’s had in her past, but maybe we’re both starting again from the same sort of low point, and that’s OK. Everything’s OK.