Alan confesses…

‘Ah… that’s, well…’ He clears his throat. ‘I suppose I might as well tell you – sorry, ma’am. I’d – well, I got a text from a friend who owns a market stall. That magazine you posed in… it finally got delivered to the island, and I was just heading down to the town to pick up a copy. Didn’t want it to sell out before I got there.’ He says this all very quickly, while staring at the floor.

Emma just laughs incredulously. ‘God. That bloody magazine. Seems like such a long time ago that I cared about who’d seen me naked, as opposed to whether or not my boyfriend was going to die or not.’ She throws you a long-suffering look. ‘Well, I’m just glad you men are all the same. Thank God you were there, that’s all I can say.’

‘I guess it turned out to be lucky in the end,’ Alan admits. ‘There’s a very narrow window for post-exposure prophylaxis. We just about got you on a drip in time. Although… I am sorry about the magazine.’ He coughs, avoiding Emma’s eyes – and for such a big guy, he looks unusually sheepish. ‘We always had titty mags in the forces, and I guess… old habits die hard.’