For the third act, it was a relief not to be next to Sabine. I needed space to think about what she’d said. She was someone who had a brother, who’d loved ballet enough to train to be a dancer, who’d been doing what I dreamed of even before I knew her. But also, there was the thing about the “lover” who’d given her the scarab. What did she mean by it?

At Juliet’s bedside scene, I reimagined Sabine as the ballerina. I watched Juliet trying to wake Romeo, shaking his lifeless body, putting his limp arms around her. Lucian slipped an arm around Sabine. I saw him watching her solicitously in the dark, his cherished little girl. Suddenly, I had a profound ache of confused envy. I didn’t want to hold Sabine myself; I wanted to be held like that.

Juliet used her last moment to reach out for Romeo’s hand. Then their families came in to find them, fingers entwined.

After the crimson-and-gold house curtains fell, we followed the dazed audience into the street. Lucian summoned a black cab.

He looked at Sabine, and then to me, and then back to Sabine.

She shook her head.

“Shame.” From the cab, he blew us kisses. Lowering the window, he called, “Thanks, Sabine, for the stupendous treat!”

Sabine’s treat? As we headed towards the Thames, I did the maths. Altogether, the tickets would have cost a month’s rent. How could Sabine afford that? I’d thought the ballet was her idea. But had she also been the instigator of some sexual fantasy?

It started to rain lightly, rain like damp lace. Then the rain became heavier. We hurried along in melancholic silence with our heads bowed. I was sure it was my fault. Because I hadn’t contributed to the intended spirit of the evening. Because I’d pressed her to open up, to speak of things that were hard.

I said, “Let’s find a cashpoint.”

“Now?”

“I owe you, Sabine.”

She was annoyed. “I don’t want your money.”

I kept my eyes focused ahead. She didn’t want anything particular from me, nor for me to do anything I didn’t want to do. By Southwark Bridge, I spotted a pub with a stained-glass door. Friday night glowed promisingly through it. I hooked my arm in hers, as she had mine earlier. “I’m getting you a drink at least.”

Several tequilas later, the rain had subsided. Although we hadn’t spoken of anything much, our mood had shifted to become dreamy and close. As we crossed over to the other side of the river, I thought of how I’d almost left the theater, almost ended everything before it had even begun. I resolved not to let it happen again. I wanted whatever we had, whatever we might have, at any cost.