“Ah, there’s been a slight change of plan.”

“What?” he says warily.

I smile icily. “It’s been decided that Charlie is going to stay in this room on his own and you are going to fuck off.” I pause as if considering my words before nodding. “Yes, that’s about it. We ended with you fucking off and never showing your face around him again.”

Something crosses his face, but it’s gone before I can decipher it. He folds his arms over his chest. “And you’re going to keep me out of the room, are you? I bloody paid for it.”

“Well, maybe you should consider the fact that you’ve had more than enough for your money, mate,” I say silkily.

He laughs and my anger rises another notch. “Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you.”

“What do you mean?”

He makes a sneering noise. “Because I got what you’ve always wanted, Misha.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I got Charlie,” he says as if I’m thick.

“Charlie’s my best mate. I don’t want him.” I’ve said those words so many times over the years, but tonight I have to actively work to put conviction in my voice. It obviously doesn’t work because he leans against the opposite wall, a sneer on his lips.

“Okay, Misha, however you want to play it.”

“I’m not playing anything.”

“Neither am I. I want to go in there and get into bed with Charlie.”

I shake my head. “It’s baffling to me that you actually consider you’re still welcome after your performance tonight.”

For a second shame crosses his face. Then he blanks his expression. “You talk as if you have a say in the matter.”

“For tonight, I have.” I open the door and remove his weekend bag that I stashed there earlier while Charlie was asleep. It’s half-open, and his stuff is spilling out of it. I look at Harry and throw it at him. As it hits him, the clothes burst out like they’re a jack-in-the-box cascading to the floor.

“There’s your shit,” I say. “Now, fuck off. What Charlie wants to do tomorrow is up to him, but I’m in charge tonight, and I’m telling you that you’re not getting anywhere near him, so sling your hook and do one.”

He throws me a fulminating glance and bends down to start stuffing the clothes back in his bag. As he stands up, I reach down to pick up a lacy pair of panties which have fallen out of a bundle of clothes. I throw them to him. “You’ve forgotten something, Harry.”

He looks down at them, and a nasty expression crosses his face. “Oh, they’re not mine,” he says softly. “They’re Charlie’s.” As the shock hits me, I gape at him, and he smiles. “Well, well, it seems there are some things that you don’t actually know about your bestest friend. I wonder why that is, eh, Misha? I wonder why you never knew that Charlie likes wearing pretty lacy knickers. Maybe he didn’t feel like he could confide in you.” I flinch, and he laughs before chucking the scrap of fabric back at me. I catch it reflexively, and my fist closes around the material, the lace rough on my skin. He laughs again. “This is hilarious. Wait until I tell the lads at work about—”