‘Don’t do this, Will.’

‘But you said – you said you wouldn’t. That night, after the fight. You said.’

‘Stop.’

‘Why? Why the fuck would you –’

‘Oh, Will. I’m a wrong’un. I told you that already.’

‘Did you fuck him?’

She looks Will in the eye, her face hard with fury. ‘Fuck off, Will. What possible business is that of yours?’

‘Did you, though?’

‘You don’t own me, Will. We’re not together. Why does everyone think they’re owed every fucking detail of a girl’s sex life? Fuck’s sake.’

‘Why? Why did you see him again?’

‘Maybe it’s just easier than the shit that comes with saying no, Will.’ She spits the words. ‘Did that ever occur to you?’

‘Don’t get it.’

‘Maybe I wasn’t in the mood for being insulted. Or shamed for being a shit shag.’

‘What do you mean? Tell me, April. Please?’

She grabs her phone from the rug with a shaking hand, unlocking it and throwing it at Will with Danny’s text messages opened on the screen. ‘If it fascinates you so fucking much …’

Will skims past the muscle-bound selfies and dick pics Danny has sent, speed-reading instead his texts when April has not replied to his suggestions they meet up: the belittling suggestions of how to improve her appearance and performance in the bedroom, thinly veiled threats to out her at ECS about why she left her old school.

‘He doesn’t like it when I ignore him.’

‘I can’t believe –’

‘Believe it, Will.’

‘What a fucking …’

She snatches her phone back. ‘Yes, I’m weak, Will. I know that. Seeing him because it’s easier than not seeing him. How fucking tragic is that!’

Will wipes his tears on his sleeve. ‘I just can’t …’

‘Maybe that’s all I’m worth. Perhaps he’s all I’m worth.’

‘That’s bollocks.’

‘Maybe tonight I thought things could be different. How wrong I was!’

‘Tonight was amazing.’ Will reaches out a hand.

April backs away. ‘Look at the state of me. Dressed like a cheap whore. Who am I kidding?’

‘Please. You’re beautiful. So, so beautiful. And incredible.’

‘Give it up, Will.’ She’s at the top of the steps now, ready to go. ‘I’m no good. We both know it.’

‘I love you.’

‘You don’t love me, Will.’

‘I do.’

‘No one could love me.’

‘Don’t say these things. Please.’

She pulls her coat tight. ‘I’ll see you around, Will.’

‘Don’t go.’

‘Let’s keep things at a safe distance from now on, yeah?’

‘No.’

‘Bye, Will.’

And she is gone.

Will paces laps of the roof before eventually descending the long spiral staircase himself. He stops halfway. It is pitch black. His legs crumple beneath him.

The sound of his own wailing is deafening in the darkness.

The Turning of Tables