‘Becky, please, tell me what you’re trying to say.’

She can’t speak. A low moan tunnels out of her.

‘Becky?’ He gently lifts her up, so that they are face to face. There are tears in his eyes. ‘I thought maybe I said something to you that night? Or that maybe you figured out because I was happy to stop trying to do anything with you … You worked out I was gay. You looked so disgusted with me. I just panicked.’

Becky has built a foundation on hating him. And now it is crumbling.

‘I was so desperate. I thought everyone could see it on me. I just wanted people to know we’d gone off together. Maybe think we were a thing, so they wouldn’t start wondering. And then we had a really good time. Or at least I did. I just don’t understand what this is.’

‘You didn’t do anything with me after that?’

‘God no. I told the guys the next day that I fingered you. I’m really sorry. That was so gross of me, and it was utter bullshit. I just wanted them to think I had.’

‘You just left me sleeping in that bed?’

‘Becky, what happened? Seriously?’ He sits back, thoughtful. ‘That party was in September right?’ His thoughts coalesce. ‘Did you get pregnant that night?’ She nods. ‘With Adam Thewlis, wasn’t it?’

‘No. I don’t know who got me pregnant. I don’t know who …’ She chokes and his face clouds with understanding.

‘Oh. Oh shit. Oh fucking hell.’ Scott is crying freely now. A splayed palm at his heart, eyes welling with tears again. What she sees is a man who hates to be thought of badly. Who tries to be good. He is telling the truth. She knows it in her bones.

‘You thought I’d raped you?’ he says.

She nods.

‘You’ve thought that for …?’

‘Since that night,’ she says.

‘Oh Becky. Oh fuck. Oh, I’m so sorry.’

‘You were the last person I remember.’

‘I could never have …’

‘I believe you. I’m sorry.’

‘You know how I said I went home with Bento? Ben Towbridge? We’d been sort of trying things out with each other for about a month. Both in the closet. Barely even out of the closet with each other, even giving each other – well, anyway. I mean, I was always gay. My parents though … They were – they still are – massive homophobes. I’m just waiting for them to die before I’m out-out.’ He helps Becky off the floor and into one of the meeting-room chairs, sitting down next to her, hands clasping hers. ‘What happened?’ he asks her.

‘I thought it was you,’ she says. ‘I’ve never known what happened. It’s been killing me.’

‘And you had the baby?’

‘Yes. She’s sixteen now. She’s the best thing in my life.’

‘Fuck me, that’s complicated though.’