I return her hug. “Feels like a good step forward.” She looks at me queryingly, and I elaborate. “I think I was so overwhelmed by the epilepsy when it happened that I let it dictate every aspect of my life. I was so focused on stopping the turns that I stopped living.”

“And a gay club is the way to start?”

I shrug. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not going wild. I’ll never drink again, because we’ve learnt that it’s one of my triggers, but the odd late night won’t hurt me as long as I’m sensible. I’ve taken my meds and had a sleep. And I’m with friends, so if the worst happens I’m still safe.”

“Of course you are. Misha would never let anything happen to you. Where is he, anyway?”

I shake my head. “He’s behaving very oddly tonight.”

A funny expression crosses her face. “What do you mean?” she says in a far too innocent voice.

“Well, he’s avoided finding me any dates, and then bang, he came home last night and told me he’d arranged a date for me tonight. He rambled on about it for a while and made no sense at all. Kept talking about the bloke’s teeth, for Christ’s sake.” Bethany giggles and I have to ask, “Do you know something I don’t know, Bethany?”

“Nothing,” she says, turning to the barman with what looks like relief. I narrow my eyes at her, but she ignores me. “So, where is Misha?” she asks.

“Gone to meet Doug at the door, apparently.”

“You don’t seem very excited.”

We look down at the crowded dance floor where people are jumping around energetically. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” I say reluctantly.

“What do you mean?” she asks as she hands me my water.

“I just…” I hesitate, and she gives me a look of concern. “I just have these feelings,” I confide. “I’m not sure where they came from, but they’re terrible, and I shouldn’t have them for this person.”

“Oh,” she says. She’s wearing that suspiciously innocent expression again, but before I can ask her about it, she speaks over me. “Oh, feelings. Inappropriate feelings. Oh, who can they be for, Charlie?”

“Did you do a spot of pre-club drinking tonight?”

“No.” She shoves me. “Shut up.”

“Then why are you talking like an actress in a bad play?”

“I’m not. So, who are these inappropriate feelings for?”

“You’re doing it again,” I accuse, but I desperately need to talk about it, so I take a breath and blurt, “It’s Misha.”

She gives a strangled whimper.