You gave a washing machine kiss and I was grateful (it was my first), and we carried on kissing, you to me, and me back, with the ease of potato peelers or mashers – not very – and it lasted a week with an almost intensity, breaking only to drink, eat dinner, or leave, and you never once walked me to the bus stop for fear of being seen.
And you said, “Don’t date Edward. Don’t let another man do what only I should,” and for the first time I stood up. I said, “You can’t tell me what to do, don’t even want to be here, told Jane you’d stay single in case she’d even think about you. And did she think it? No.”