Kal was ashamed to admit now that that side of Jon always made him a bit embarrassing in front of his City friends. Everyone there was more relaxed. But he’d always known that Jon was there for him. Jon – and Amy.

But she’d forced him to take sides. Amy had shown Kal a side of Jon that Kal hadn’t liked. That he couldn’t forgive.

Next to him, his phone buzzes, loud and distracting. He picks it up, expecting a torrent of abuse from his mates for leaving them, but it’s Amy.

You in town? the message says.

He considers leaving it, but feels a flash of sympathy towards her. He replies: Home.

You okay?

No. He’s surprised at his honesty. But if anyone can understand how he’s feeling, it’s her.

I’m coming over.

Don’t, he types back, but there’s no response.

Fifteen minutes later there’s a knock on the door. He opens it, wearily.

‘You shouldn’t have come, Amy,’ he says, then frowns. She’s wearing a tight dress, breasts pushed up, high heels, more than her usual amount of make-up. ‘You been out?’ he adds as she walks into the house.

‘What have you got to drink?’ she asks.

‘What do you want?’

‘Vodka tonic. You got any blow?’

‘No.’

‘Pity.’ She walks away from him, into the living room, and he makes her the drink. He carries it through, where she’s sitting on the sofa, heels kicked off, legs crossed, showing a long expanse of toned thigh. She taps the sofa next to her with a smile.

He passes her the drink and sits down slowly. She’s behaving strangely, even for Amy. Drunk, maybe, or on something else, it’s hard to tell. She takes a sip from her glass, her eyes fixed on him.

‘How can I help?’ she asks, her voice almost a purr.

‘I’m fine, Amy. I just… I can’t stop thinking about him.’ He stops. He can’t even begin to articulate what happened to his best friend.

‘I can take your mind off it.’

‘I…’ Kal goes to say something else, but she’s pressing herself up against him, her body warm and eager.

He remembers the last time they were alone together. She turned up, out of the blue, crying, her face bloody and bruised. He comforted her, sat on this sofa, as she told him about her fight with Jonathan. How he’d done this to her.

And then they were kissing. He can’t remember who made the first move, but there was no doubt that the rest of it was consensual. She was all over him, undoing his trousers, her mouth on his dick. He tried to stop her, but not really, because it felt so good, so fucking good, until he pulled her up, took her clothes off and screwed her, right there, on the sofa.