That night the first film on the programme was House of Games. One of my ten favourite films. A fantastic story, dark and haunting, about psychiatrists and con men.

There was still at least three quarters of an hour to go before the film started. Margherita saw two women friends of hers at a table, she went up to them and said hello, and they asked us to sit down. Margherita’s friends were a couple and were both called Giovanna. They even looked alike. They both dressed in a masculine way, and both moved in a masculine way. It made me wonder who took which role – if indeed there were roles – in the couple. They attended the same martial arts gym as Margherita.

“Are you staying for the film?” Margherita asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Giovanna said. “Giovanna has to get up early tomorrow.”

“Yes, we’re just going to finish this rum and go,” Giovanna added.

They were ignoring me a bit. I mean they’d both turned to Margherita, were talking just to her, and I could have sworn the way they looked at her wasn’t exactly innocent.

At a certain point, Giovanna asked Margherita if she had decided to enrol with them on the parachute course.

What parachute course?

“I’m thinking about it. I’d really like to. It’s something I’ve been wanting to try for years. But I’m not sure I’ve got the time.”

I managed to cut into the conversation. “Sorry, what’s all this about a parachute course?”

“Oh, a friend of Giovanna’s teaches parachuting. He keeps asking them to join his course. You can get a licence, you know. They’ve asked me too.”

They’ve asked you because they want to fuck you. The lesbian licence, that’s what they want you to take. That’s it – the flying lesbian licence.

I didn’t say that. Obviously. We men of the left don’t say things like that, though we might think them. Besides, the two Giovannas looked as if they could easily have ripped my balls off and played pinball with them for a lot less.