Daniel knew what to do – certainly he knew what he’d like to do – but he felt her tremble with each in-breath, and she was holding her limbs very, very still, like a person waiting for news and expecting the worst. She closed her eyes and gave a shivering sigh and he said, ‘Are you OK?’ and when she opened them, she didn’t answer, but her eyes looked directly into his, because he was hanging over her now, studying her face, propping himself up on one elbow while his other arm formed a loose circle around her body. She nodded, and he lowered himself to kiss her. This, she could do; this, she’d done before. Her lips were warm and dry against his, and he was careful not to press too hard, or to appear too hungry, too desperate, so he moved away from her mouth and kissed her face, again and again, and when she closed her eyes, he kissed her eyelids. Finally, now, she moved towards him, making a half-turn so that their bodies were pressed alongside each other, and, encouraged by this, he kept her busy with kisses as he ran a hand through her hair, down the side of her face, along her neck, over her shoulder. Her shirt slipped and slid under his palm, and he found the opening, and then skin, and the curve of her breast. Which is when she sat up, and it all stopped.

‘What?’ he said, dazed with lust, sitting up next to her with some effort.

‘Nothing.’

‘What’s up, though?’

‘I don’t know. I just …’ She petered out, and shook her head sharply, as if she was exasperated with herself. She wouldn’t look at him, but when he reached out for her shoulder and pushed her gently back down on to the bed, she acquiesced and lay there passively, staring up at him. He stared back, taking her in.

‘Alison Connor,’ he said.

‘Daniel Lawrence.’

‘Look at you.’

‘What?’

‘You’re bloody lovely.’

She smiled.

‘That’s the first time you’ve smiled all night,’ he said.

‘Sorry,’ she said. She reached up, cupped his neck in her right hand and pulled him towards her, and they kissed again, but when that ended he drew away to remove any sense of pressure, and just lay down next to her, holding her hand, and they both stared up at the ceiling. There was an ugly jagged line in the Artex plasterwork, as if the room was trying to split in two.

‘I’m seeing a giant Toblerone,’ Daniel said, and Alison said, ‘It’s too irregular for that, more like, oh, maybe a streak of lightning,’ and they solemnly regarded the crack, considering its possibilities. Through the filter of the floorboards and carpet, Blondie was seeping into the room: ‘Picture This’ again. The party tape must be on its second loop, thought Alison. She sang along, very quietly.