I was sure alcohol would help.

‘Do you want wine, Sasha? White or red? Here you go.’ I hobbled over, crutch under one armpit, bottle in my free hand. ‘Charlie got this from a wine merchant near the hospital, didn’t you?’

Charlie made a ‘no big deal’ face and Sasha pulled an ‘ooh, la-di-da’ expression. The two of them exchanged chit-chat for a few minutes, about the snow, my accident – ‘He’s such a klutz,’ said Sasha – and some other stuff that I can’t remember because I was too busy wracking my brains for a topic they could bond over. They were both into music, films, books, though Charlie’s tastes were at the darker end of the spectrum, more cerebral, difficult stuff that Sasha would have called pretentious.

‘Andrew tells me you’re an artist,’ Sasha said, sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa. She had come straight from work and was dishevelled, her hair going curly from the damp, make-up faded, a grease stain on her top. Still, this was how Sasha usually looked; it was part of her charm.

Charlie, by contrast, had just spent an hour in the bathroom and looked immaculate in a soft green dress with salon-fresh hair. I had seen Sasha flick her eyes up and down Charlie’s body in a judgmental way when she came in to the flat. I didn’t like that look; it wasn’t the kind of thing Sasha usually did, and it made me feel protective of Charlie.

‘I don’t even know if I call myself an artist anymore,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s been so long since I painted anything.’

‘What a shame.’

‘I simply don’t get time anymore.’

Sasha looked at me. ‘Yes. So I hear.’

Charlie affected ignorance of the meaning behind Sasha’s words. ‘It’s mainly because of work. It takes up all my energy, doesn’t leave much time to be creative.’

‘Sucks having to work for a living, doesn’t it?’

Charlie smiled. ‘Yes, it really does.’

‘And Andy here—’ She never usually called me Andy. ‘Andy is going to be joining us work drones soon.’

‘Hmm.’ Charlie put her hand on my arm. ‘I think he’s crazy.’

Sasha furrowed her brow. ‘Really? It’s a great opportunity.’

‘Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘As soon as I’m off these bloody crutches . . .’

‘You need to take it easy,’ Charlie said, rubbing my arm. ‘You don’t want to rush things and aggravate the injury.’

‘Oh, he’ll be fine,’ Sasha said. ‘He’s a typical bloke, that’s all. Have you seen him with a cold yet?’

Charlie shook her head.

‘You wait. You’d think he was dying from Ebola. You should have seen him when he had his eye thing. I know it was horrible, but I’ve seen more stoic toddlers.’

‘Hey, that’s a bit unfair,’ I said.