The arrival of love should ostensibly always be a matter of celebration.
Let's imagine that finally, after years of waiting, along comes what might be called a nice person.
They're mature, they apologize for their flaws, they listen, they ask questions, they take an interest, they're generous.
So a new couple go on a number of holidays, maybe to Pisa first, then a weekend in Wales, then a trip to Nottingham.
Introductions are made to best friends from the training course, to an aunt, to a brother-in-law.
There's laughter, some innovative sex, deep conversations, and a sense at last of having come home.
But in the background of one of the two parties, the lover who is fearful of love, there will also be a rising discomfort.
For a time, this is managed through strategic lowerings of the temperature.
Let's say there's an argument on the steps of the museum, which ruins one afternoon.
Then there's a mysterious bout of so-called illness, which puts pay to a few dinners.
