Seeing David again for the first time was not at all as I had imagined it. I had imagined a sordid rendezvous in the supermarket car park where we would swap back the items of each other's property we had gathered over the years. There would be an argument over who owned the programme from that matinee performance of Grease we saw on our first proper date, It was signed by all the cast. He would let me have it, of course, because when it came down to it, he didn't have such a big thing about Shane Ritchie as I did. But then David would drive off to meet Lisa from her late shift and I would tear the programme up anyway and let the pieces scatter across the wet ground. Symbolically.

Instead, David and I were sitting across a table at Marvin's house, of all places. There were no bitter recriminations. He wasn't even paying too much attention to me in the way that people do when they know they've done you wrong. He was discussing engine sizes with Andrew. Just like old times. Then, suddenly, David turned and looked at me. He actually smiled at me in the special way he had smiled at me during dozens of these dinner parties over the time that we were together. It was a smile that said, this guy is boring me rigid, can't wait to rip these morons apart with you on the journey home. Can't wait to rip your clothes off when we get home, was what it usually also meant.

I blushed and pretended that I was really interested in the pattern on my plate. Only the plate was actually plain white. When I looked up again, David was still looking at me. When I looked down again, his left foot, minus a shoe, was in my lap.

My mouth dropped open. What did this mean? It was what he always used to do at parties. He would wriggle his toes in my crotch until I was barely able to speak for excitement. But that was back then. In the good old days. Now, in the context of our new status as ex-lovers, it was surely a wholly inappropriate thing to do. I gave him a 'what do you think you're doing?' kind of look.

He gave me an innocent 'am I doing something wrong?' kind of look back.

Emma leaned across to ask me to pass the salt. I quickly covered David's foot with my napkin before she could see what was going on.

'Are you OK?' she asked, seeing the surprised and perturbed look that I just couldn't keep off my face. 'You look a bit weird, Al.'

'It's hot in here,'I said hurriedly. 'Aren't you hot too?'

'No.' Emma put some salt on her inedible pasta and thankfully returned to that interminable conversation about the benefits of a mortgage over renting with Tiffany.

As I tried to force down a piece of rock-hard garlic bread, David's toes began to move. It was almost imperceptible at first, but pretty soon, I was sure that everyone in the room must have been able to see the napkin jumping up and down in my lap. I forced myself further back in my chair in an attempt to make myself out of his range. David, while continuing to talk house prices with Andrew, abandoned his food altogether and slid lower in his chair to better help him get to me. I gestured at him to stop, wildly flashing my eyes, but David wasn't even looking at me so that he could get the signs.

Finally, I had no choice. This had to stop. David Whitworth no longer had the right to try to turn me on.

So I stabbed him with a fork.

'Fuck!'

Andrew fell off his chair and began to roll about on the floor, clutching desperately at his newly perforated ankle.