It turned out I didn’t have to let him win. His sheer determination not to engage created such focus that he was thrashing me.

I was happy to remain in the uncomfortable void, but near the end of the game, I was taking a shot and he said, ‘So tell me, Constance, are we going to talk about the other night or what?’

I miscued. The white ball bounced into a pocket. ‘Two shots to you,’ I said.

He didn’t move. Held his cue like a staff.

‘I think you should go for that one there, Dale. If you go for the one over the pocket, you’ll pot the black.’

‘Yes, but it may bounce off the pocket and then I’ll still— Oh for Christ’s sake, stop talking to me about the game, will you? Did you not hear me?’

A scolded child, I perched my cue against the wall and followed him with my drink to the tiny table tucked in the corner. We sat on the low stools, positioning ourselves to avoid touching each other’s knees.

‘You first,’ he said.

My legs mirrored what was going on inside. Twisted. Numb. Not wanting to knock him. My only hope being if Gavin flipped out and we’d have to save people’s lives. ‘I . . . I don’t know what to say, though, Dale.’

‘Fine . . . I’ll start, then.’ Instead of doing so, he supped his pint.

I followed suit with my near-empty glass.

‘Fuck . . . OK . . . The thing is, Constance . . . we’ve been friends for a little while now—’

‘And our friendship is so important to me.’

‘Sure, to me too . . . but, well, the fact is . . . I don’t think of you as just a friend anymore.’

Though hardly a surprise, now the words were projected into the universe, I couldn’t look at him, never mind reply. I tilted my glass in search of vodka. Only ice remained, so I desperately dug some out with my fingers and sucked on it.

‘You see . . . you don’t say anything . . . It’s so bloody frustrating and I can’t work out if it’s because you’re shy—’

‘I . . . I just—’

‘Because there’s no need to be shy.’ He uncurled his fingers from his glass and reached for my hand. Held it. Cold hands, warm heart.

I dared to look at him, smile.

‘So, you are just being shy?’

‘No . . . I . . .’ I shook my head. My eyes apologized.

His hand released mine to grasp his beer once again, which he then gulped until only white froth slid down the sides. This time, there was an unmistakable slam.

‘It’s surely been fucking obvious from day one?’

‘What has?’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

‘I . . . I thought we were friends. That you . . . you were my friend.’