Oni is silent.

‘We should go out,’ says Alisha.

‘I can’t,’ says Oni.

They talk, long into the deep dark of the night.

In October, Yannis has another party. Dillon arrives on his own. Everyone is outside, at the back. It’s cold, but Yannis doesn’t want them smoking in the house this time. People drink beers, sit around.

Dillon feels the change since last Christmas. He feels old, and when he looks at the others, they seem older too. He chats, sometimes stands while other people chat. Sometimes stands contemplating his beer. He doesn’t like it, but he needs to drink it. He drinks in gulps, the better to feel it in his throat.

He doesn’t want to be there. He knows this, but can’t say it to himself. He scans for Rose. He looks at his phone to check any messages.

‘Dillon!’

Alisha’s eyes are big. She gives Dillon a hug. He can feel the tremor in her. She’s strung tight on the intensity of some kind of high.

‘I fucking love you, Dillon,’ whispers Alisha into his ear.

He hugs tight, his arm across her back.

‘Come on,’ she says, releasing him, then grabbing his hand. They go to where the beers are, then sit against the wall at the back of the garden. She pulls out a joint. They light up.

The smoke thickens in his head. His shoulders relax.

‘Fuck, man,’ murmurs Alisha. Her head rolls. She snaps it up. ‘Dillon, man, I fucking need you.’

She isn’t slurring, but her voice is stretched.

‘Hey,’ says Dillon. ‘You OK?’

She shakes her head.

‘What’s up?’

She carries on shaking, looking down, then pulls her head up, and grins broadly at him. ‘I’m good! I’m fucking good!’

He can see something is wrong. He holds her hand, and she grabs his with her other hand, and she fixes him with her eyes, wide and wet and full of emotion, and says again,

‘I really do fucking love you.’

The light is fading now. He’s wearing a T-shirt, and, while he’s not yet cold, the chill of evening raises goosebumps on his arms. The smoke has made him a little sharper, a little flatter. Alisha’s hand in his is moving, kneading his. She’s a solid presence next to him. It’s disconcerting the way she’s staring at him.

‘Do you want a drink?’

She gulps and nods. ‘Get me a beer.’

He stands, but she doesn’t let go of his hand.

‘Give me a hug,’ she says.

He leans down. She holds him tight. Her hair is damp with sweat. She is heavy in his arms. She is strong.

He disengages. He walks out to the bucket of beers. The garden is full of shadows now, and he stumbles on a bottle as he heads back into the house.

He feels a hand on his back.

He turns. Rose smiles. It’s a new kind of smile, awkward in a new way. Her teeth are bright, her eyes dark, her hair shiny. She has heels on. They make her loom over him. He can see her breasts at the top of her dress.