I found this story relatively easy to write. I lived in London and remember the excitement and romance of the city at night. I submitted the story to the online magazine Shorts and it was published in Autumn 2022.

It wasn’t my sister’s fault. That’s what I told him when I phoned to cancel our regular date – with just the right tone of regret in my voice. That she was depressed over the break up with her husband and that she needed someone to get drunk with…. That she had never sounded so low and I was worried.. That I would make it up to him.

He didn’t know that I was looking through my wardrobe as I was talking to him on my phone and choosing a dress that he had never seen. And uncovering silk underwear that lay at the back of the drawer. Or that as I started to apply my make up I was already imagining myself with a man that he knew. A man from my past – a family friend- who we had laughingly agreed should be a guest at our wedding one day. Someone who I knew that he privately envied and admired. A man who was desired by so many women – women who were waiting to be invited to forget their commitments for a night. Women like me.

I knew that I wasn’t this man’s only lover.

My sister didn’t understand. ‘Why take the risk? He has women everywhere.’

But I closed the front door firmly behind me and walked quickly to the underground station.

Our meetings followed a pattern. It was always late at night when he called to ask to meet. I would catch the last train – the carriage would be empty as I moved towards the city whilst others were making their way home. The journey felt long and guilt would rise up and tighten my chest and throat. I would stare through the window at the empty platforms and imagine rising from my seat and stepping down from the train to return home. But my desire was too powerful and it compelled me to sit quietly, counting the stops.

Once together, there were no doubts or fear of consequence. We would approach each other at the station and would greet each other with reserve, unable to look directly at each other, trying to conceal our delight and the expectation of pleasure. We would move together into the night and I would start to relax. He would walk alongside me and then capture my hand so naturally in his. His fingers were warm, and his touch gentle. I would talk fast and he would laugh at my stories, and I would wonder at how I felt just to be able to hear his voice and see his face again.

Tonight we walked away from the station without any real direction. He was tall and dark and groups of women heading home from the bars called after him without concern for my feelings. I felt ashamed that they seemed to recognise our situation- that there was nothing settled or permanent between us. That we weren’t supposed to be together. He laughed, enjoying their admiration, and pulled me close but my face burned and I hid it in his shoulder as we walked through the dark streets.

We made for a nightclub that we both knew. It seemed a good place to start our night together- it was busy but we bypassed the bar and he led me carefully through the crush and the noise towards the dance floor. I kept close behind him and was pushed forward so I could feel my breasts against his back. I was intoxicated by the smell of his skin and the softness of his shirt against my face. He turned and slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me towards him. We stood together in the noise without speaking. It felt as if we were alone in that place, just as it always did, as if no-one was there, watching. But this time, somebody was.