Becky realizes that she has agreed to leave one place, but in doing so seems to have agreed to come to this place: a space about the size of a small garage, full of orderly rails of shirts and skirts, lines of shoes and boots. What are the rules of a place like this? There is no bed to lie down on. She hasn’t agreed to that. A sliding door has bumped closed on its rails behind them. They can still hear the game being played, people hammering their hands on walls and cupboard doors and knees, like a drumroll as the bottle spins. She can’t take off any clothes in here, can she? Does she even want to? She looks at Scott, trying to decide what she wants. Is this at least an answer to the question of how to pass the night, with Adam gone and Mary somewhere with Brendan, perhaps taking her clothes off right now? Is this what she wants?

Scott steps toward her and kisses her, pushing her slightly into a soft wall of coat sleeves. His hand circles one of her wrists.

She closes her eyes and, actually, like the first time he did it, it’s sort of OK. He’s not really shaving yet and his lips are soft. Like kissing a girl almost, she thinks, and then she asks herself why she’s thinking such a weird thing. It’s not like this is her first kiss. Not my first rodeo! She wishes her mind would stop wandering. Why can’t she just concentrate on this or, better, not concentrate on anything?

He slides his other hand onto the waistband of her jeans. She remembers suddenly that she is flying low. He eases away the button above the open zip and she no longer knows what this is, in the middle of all the coats and a mother’s best high heels on racks. She feels his fingers reach for the hem of her pants. She breaks off and pulls her wrist out of his light grasp.

‘No?’ he says.

‘I’m not sure,’ she says, because the word ‘no’ on its own is just too stark, too short, too accusatory.

He steps back and she breathes easily again. She does her zip and button back up. He looks ashamed of himself.

‘Was that not …?’

‘No, it’s … I’m on my period.’ An easy enough lie to stop him feeling bad.

‘Oh, fuck. Sorry. I should have …’

‘No, I should have said.’

‘It’s a really weird game, this whole thing. I just … Can you forget about it?’

‘Yes.’

They stand there. Where do they go from here? Do they go back to the room? They’ll clap. They’ll ask questions. Did she blow him like a champion? Did they do it? They won’t be able to look sad about anything.