Beth’s eyes pop out; her complexion drains. Her sharp fingernails dig into my upper arms. Beth won’t be grief-stricken. She won’t even be sad, not really, because she didn’t know Jack; not enough to grieve him in any way. She’s simply in shock. Because things like this don’t happen. Not in real life.

‘Beth …’ I say, desperate for the horror of this moment to pass.

Her nails dig deeper.

‘Beth, you’re hurting me.’

She pauses, then her thumb strokes my arm.

‘What happened?’ she asks, gently. ‘When?’

‘Oh God, I need to go, just be on me own.’

‘Chlo—’

‘No. I’m begging you, pal. I don’t know anything other than …’ and I clam up again.

No. I simply cannot say what happened to Jack today. This is all too surreal. Beth’s road is spinning around us, the terraced houses dancing in zigzags around the parked cars, the evening breeze warm and sticky and making me gag. So, taking advantage of Beth not wearing any shoes, I break away from her, whisper something about being sorry, and run.

3

The day Jack gave me a key to his flat, I responded badly.

It wasn’t in a little red box or tied to a fancy ribbon, but he did get down onto one knee and, throwing his arms to the gods, pretended he was in some sort of amateur dramatic Shakespeare production. He then took the key from his shirt pocket, held it up like a prized chalice and shouted, ‘TA-DA!’

‘Oh, I’ve already got one,’ I said.

Back during one of my early visits, I’d nipped down the road to the Sainsbury’s Local to buy some chocolate and Jack had given me the spare key to let myself back in. I’d just forgotten to give it back to him.

‘Well, you could just play along,’ Jack said quietly, gritting his teeth.

‘Sorry, hun. I meant, OH YAY!’

Standing outside our flat now, that same key in my hand, I hesitate to open the door. Jack didn’t own this flat; he rented it. From his parents. I was due to contribute to the rent and bills, starting from this month, and my landlords were to become the very people who are inside right now, perhaps watching the telly, taking a shower, making a coffee. The people who never knew I lived here.