‘Yes, I took off your jeans so you’d be more comfortable. I tucked you in. I think I put you in the recovery position in case you threw up. And then I went downstairs. I had a bit of a dance and a smoke and then I just started to feel a bit wrecked so I went back to Bento’s house with him. His parents were away in their cottage so we could just chill all day.’

‘Is that it?’

‘That is literally everything. And can you please tell me what this is about now, because you’re really worrying me.’

Her heartbeat is pounding in her ears. He is so smooth. So convincing. Making out like unbuttoning her jeans was the worst thing he’d ever done. Apologizing for that! He’s just like Matthew, she thinks. Making her doubt everything except him. Has he forgotten his confession? Can he possibly think she has forgotten it?

‘On my last day at that school I came and found you. I said something to you. Do you remember that?’ spits Becky.

‘Yes.’

‘What did I say to you?’

‘You told me that you knew about me and I begged you not to tell anyone,’ says Scott. ‘And so far as I know, you never did. I don’t know why you said it to me. I’ve wanted to ask you that.’

‘I told you that I knew!’ She is louder now.

His face is pale, blank, there is no flicker, so shine, no register, no nothing.

How dare he! She wants to smash the bones beneath his skin, and make black and purple bruising inside him, to make him sting and break and cry and fucking die the same way she did.

The pretence of good humour has burnt off him now and his words are chopped and sharp. ‘OK, I think maybe we’re done. Nice seeing you again.’

‘Stop fucking with me!’ Her grip tightens now, curling round the scissors, pressing deep now.

‘Jesus.’ He turns away from her. She realizes that he’s going for the door. She jumps up and puts her body in his way.

‘You bastard!’ She is weeping now. She tries to hit him. He catches her wrists. He works out three times a week. He easily grips her. ‘You fucking bastard! How could you do that to me?’

‘Do what? Do what?’

She thrashes to get at him, to beat and punish him.

‘You admitted it! You asked me not to tell anyone!’

‘I know!’

‘So say it!’

‘That I’m gay? What the fuck is going on? I don’t understand!’

The wind goes out of her. She crumples, her wrists still gripped by him, so that for a moment she hangs like a broken marionette, arms aloft, head hanging down. Thick wrenching sobs.

She expects him to step over her and call the police. But instead he lowers her to the floor, crouches down with her.