‘Grim,’ he says. He takes a biscuit absent-mindedly and points at me with it. ‘You know what I think, Fern? I think the house party was a way of being with Max for the weekend,’ he says. ‘That’s why she was so happy.’ He breathes in hard. ‘She was never happy just with me.’

My heart’s breaking for him. ‘In that case, she’s crazy.’

He looks up at me hopefully. ‘Do you think so?’

‘Absolutely,’ I say firmly.

He eats the biscuit and ponders for a few moments, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows. ‘Fern, you’ve known her longer than I have – how can I be the man she wants?’

‘Don’t think like that. You can only be yourself.’

‘I don’t want to be myself. I’m going to reinvent myself. You’ve got to help me. You told me I could be anyone I want,’ he says accusingly. ‘You said I could be a dolphin in a cow costume.’

‘Eh? Did I?’ I do vaguely remember saying that. ‘I didn’t mean you specifically, I meant people in general. I can’t imagine you being anyone other than you.’

‘I want to be a dolphin.’

‘Don’t think like that.’

‘I want to wear a hazmat suit, like Alexa. I want to protect myself.’

Hearing my own words said back to me makes me cringe. I think of Alexa saying: Do you know how trivial you sound? ‘Listen, the point is, it’ll get better, I promise. I’ve been through it myself.’

‘Yes, you have. With what’s-his-name.’ He turns to look at me carefully. ‘I want to be like you. You told yourself it’s fine, it wasn’t serious anyway.’

I’d forgotten I’d said that. How much more has he memorised? ‘The point is, I’m over it now. And this is what I think about Mick – if we’d loved each other, a long pleated skirt and a tie-neck blouse wouldn’t have mattered to either of us, would they?’

He doesn’t reply. His head is bent. The Pucci dress is strangely slippery. It’s making me slide down the sofa. I’m level with his ear. It’s a nice ear. In the gap under his stripy collar I can see the bone of his spine. I want to kiss it.

He says sharply, ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

I sit up again, alarmed that I’m being so obvious. ‘What?’

‘You’re thinking about the chopping board.’

‘No! Not at all! Well – yes,’ I lie.