I wanted to hate her, I really did. But I couldn’t help seeing her through his eyes, and it wasn’t the crushing drain you’d expect, no. It was merely the dull throb of understanding how it felt to have her lovely hand seeking his arm in reassurance, the small, persistent ache of knowing how it felt to have the stunning blue of her eyes cut so deep that they would be permanently etched into him.

I wanted to hate her, but he looked so happy. And for that, in some small way, I had to love her too.

I had to love her and I had to love him, and it was too much. It was too much.

There would be a room on a street in a house with a window by the bed; I would look out over the Amstel.

There would be a boy in a blue jumper under the watery lions in Piccadilly.

There would be glitter in the blow, the search for a lost song, rain in New York and car windows that turned into mirrors I couldn’t look into.

There would be a certain kind of freedom, once in a while, that I always ended up finding I didn’t want.

Funny how that works.

Mala Di

July 2009

Button, Cookie and I were curled up on my bed, all set to talk until light broke through the windows. We were tired out from the adrenaline rush of the past hour, having snuck Button out of her house and into mine for the best-friends-only slumber party.

We’d recruited a reluctant and licence-less Polo to drive me over to her house and catch her as she scaled and jumped over the boundary wall—all while Cookie kept a nervous lookout back at my place. Button gave him a quick, excited hug when we made it home and up the stairs without getting caught, and he broke into the kind of grin usually reserved for greeting his dinner.

It was the happiest I’d been in a long time.

We were all still subdued, of course. I’d even felt hesitant about asking Cookie whether she wanted to come over and spend the night because my parents were both out of town on work. But she had seemed very enthused about the idea, saying yes, definitely, she needed a respite, let’s do it, please.

‘People, shall we have some drinks?’ Cookie pulled out a couple of clear glass bottles from her bag. ‘I brought vodka.’

I concentrated on not looking over at Button, knowing she was doing the same.

‘Oh. Why?’

‘Why not?’

Cookie’s voice was entirely level, but I could sense the effort she was putting in to keep it that way. I took my cue and said nothing.

She poured the clear liquid into two more glasses and looked up at us. ‘Well?’

We’d always done everything together, hadn’t we?