I lit a cigarette. ‘I promise you I’m not seeing anyone.’ Rephrasing it eradicated some of the guilt. Another truth-lie. Except it wasn’t, really. It was now just the truth.

Tears crept up on me again.

‘Hey . . . I didn’t mean to—’

‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m just drunk.’

But it wasn’t that. It was because I was a terrible person, and I never used to be.

He grabbed a roll of toilet paper off the side, wound some around his hand and passed it to me. ‘You know, I’m not being truthful.’

I took the paper, confused, and blew my nose.

‘I’ve made out that I’m upset because I thought you hadn’t told me you were seeing someone . . . and I was. I mean, that would be upsetting, but—’ He stopped.

I was meant to coax it out of him but didn’t. I remained mute, head down, wrapping the tissue around my finger. Because I sensed what he wanted to say, and I didn’t want him to say it.

‘OK . . . fuck it. The truth is, it . . . it felt horrendous. The thought of you being with someone.’ His eyes searched for approval, but I just blew my nose again and withdrew my gaze from his, my eyelids descending slowly, focusing on my hands tearing at the screwed-up tissue.

It was so very long, the silence. Loud. After some moments within its deafening boom, he stood. ‘Right . . . well, don’t I feel the dick . . .? Erm . . . yeah, I’m not really in the mood for Blade Runner tonight, if that’s OK?’

It was then I’d intended to say something. At the very least tell him he wasn’t a dick. But by the time my lips had emerged from their coma, he was halfway out of the room. ‘Dale . . . I—’ The door slammed.

I followed him. Knocked on his door. Knocked again. Nothing. Tried the handle, but it was locked.

‘Dale . . . come on . . . Please let me in.’

Then there was the sound of explosions, firing of machine guns, the death throes of shot zombies, but no response.

I was back to being alone.

Being Eleanor Rigby.

It’s impossible to …

It’s impossible to know what course we’d take in life if we hadn’t met certain individuals. I was unaware, but you’d altered me. You, a catalyst who had, by definition, remained unchanged.

Dale had disappeared. I heard him leave on the Saturday morning, and he never returned. Even arguing with his parents was preferable to facing me. I shan’t pretend I wasn’t glad. I needed the space to drink and smoke, alternate between hope and despair.