Patrick’s stomach no longer gave when I nestled into him; it was a hard, unforgiving thing, like a sideboard, and he was prone to pulling up his shirt and hitting it with things, to prove quite how hard it was. His face was planed, and weathered from his time spent constantly outdoors. His thighs were solid muscle. That would have been quite sexy in itself, had he actually wanted to have s*x. But we were down to about twice a month, and I wasn’t the kind to ask.
It was as if the fitter he got, the more obsessed by his own shape he became, the less interested he was in mine. I asked him a couple of times if he didn’t fancy me any more, but he seemed pretty definite. ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he would say. ‘I’m just shattered. Anyway, I don’t want you to lose weight. The girls at the club – you co
