It’s edging up to three in the morning by the time I leave. I’m drunk, thick with red wine and heavy from chocolate. Ingrid has passed out on the sofa like Sleeping Beauty. I make some daft comment to Giles about how he has to kiss her to break the spell and I pat Ingrid’s blonde hair, whispering a thank you for a lovely evening into her ear.

‘Ah, Chloe, I feel like we all finally know who lives in the basement now,’ Giles says. He’s talking with his eyes fully closed, his hands in his pockets and unsteady on his feet. ‘We invited Jack up often. He never came.’

‘Shame,’ Neil says, softly. ‘Shame.’

‘Never?’ I ask. All evening, I’d presumed Jack was familiar with this flat, these people.

Giles shakes his head, eyes still closed. ‘But you did, Chloe. You did.’ He removes his hands from his pockets and holds out his arms like Jesus on the cross. Oh! He’s inviting me for a hug. We hug it out like real mates.

‘We never knew Jack,’ Giles says. ‘But we know you.’

‘Welcome to the house!’ Neil says. ‘That’s not inappropriate, is it?’

I shake my head, still mid-hug with Giles, and sort of mumble something about how everything and nothing is inappropriate around a woman whose fella died, and I don’t know why, but we all laugh. A tired, final laugh that ends in a satisfying sigh, with a yawn thrown in for good luck. I slip my feet into my boots but I don’t bother doing up the laces. Neil takes his coat and throws it over his arm, only a flight of stairs away from home. ‘After you,’ he says, and I trudge down the stairs carefully gripping the banister, his footsteps clomping behind me.

‘Goodnight, Chloe,’ Neil says, fumbling with his key.

‘Night, neighbour!’ I say with a salute.

35

I close the door behind me in the flat, and it feels like a window has opened.

I stumble into the bedroom and without turning the light on, flop onto the bed and tap my phone, the glow of the screen making me squint. I’m not doing anybody any favours by ignoring Justin’s message any longer. Even if he’s writing to tell me what a terrible mistake our horrid kiss was, I’ll be on his side at least.

But by default – or habit – I open the Facebook app. Scroll.

Channel 4 News clips flash by. A baby called Arthur flashing a gummy smile is six months old today. An article from the Guardian about the reality for ‘resting’ actors has been shared by three of my friends. And, like a ghost, there’s Jack. His hairy face laughing, one thick arm stretched upwards and his fist punching the sky like a superhero. His other arm is around Florrie.

Florrie Ellen Tewkesbury

Missing you. You knows it. xxx