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At first, I thought it was a bit of harmless fun, watching him sweating it out in front of the wall-to-wall mirror in his green Serval gym vest and black shorts. All that pelvic thrusting and hip swivelling sent temperatures soaring in the packed studio, even though he seemed oblivious to it all. Members couldn’t get enough of him, especially the women of a certain age. Bar me, of course. All I was interested in was toning all the saggy bits and getting rid

of my spare tyre. My confidence had hit rock bottom. I needed to get back into shape, at any cost.

The waiting list to join his free classes, a deal the trainers agree to at Serval in exchange for using the facilities for their paid customers, was as long as my arm. It’s not because they’re free, although I’m sure that helps. Who doesn’t love a freebie? It’s because of him. Working-out with him was fun. Exciting. It really didn’t feel like exercise at all. I’m not going to lie, I liked him – enough to hire him as my personal trainer. Behind my husband’s back.

But that was six weeks ago. Now, just the thought of Frank makes my skin crawl.

Now, he’s become a liability.

Now, I want to make him disappear.