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Tom said my neck tasted of honey. When I told Jasper he laughed hysterically, dropping the crystal glass of champagne onto the thick white carpet. Snorting like a horse, slapping his black Parisian jeans, contorting his face like a fairground mirror image. I didn't think it was so funny but didn't say anything. I laughed too.

One thing that Jasper would never know about me is how lonely and disgusted I feel with myself when I tell him about Tom.

When I walked away from the car, turned back and waved at Tom who had wiped the condensation from the driver's side of the car so he could see me, I knew I had to change my life and leave Jasper. After having sex in the back of the car, Tom fastidiously wiped away the evidence, folded up the tissue neatly and placed it into a plastic freezer bag ready to dispose of later. He has OCD.

I didn't tell Jasper everything this evening, the story about Tom's elderly aunt who died last week or the way he cries watching tv.

Or the fact that I'm in love with Tom.