Next to me Carral was trying to separate the pages of Moon Lips. She must have got to the part with the stain. Once she’d slid a knife between the pages and they came apart, she turned the page and sighed softly. The article in front of me displayed colourful images of thick mushroom stems and caps, but I couldn’t read at all anymore, just sat and listened to her breath, guessing how far she’d got. I didn’t notice her moving until her face almost touched mine.

‘I think that’s him,’ she said. ‘Should we open?’

Someone had knocked on the door.

‘Did I come too quickly?’ Pym asked. ‘I mean, too early, I mean …’

He’d showered and dressed. His breath still smelled faintly of whisky, an odour partly concealed by an overpowering aftershave. His biceps were hidden under a checked shirt. I felt my mouth dry up, my tongue shrink.

‘Right now is …’ I said, but I couldn’t continue, and next to me Carral said teasingly:

‘Back for more?’ Then she smiled and continued: ‘Just kidding. Of course! Nice to see you. By the way, you have to help us remember last night, because I can’t remember anything, and Jo isn’t telling.’

Pym hesitated.

‘We were just drunk,’ I said. My voice was hoarse.

‘Yes, that was it, I guess,’ he said with a tentative smile. ‘I don’t know if I have a better version.’

I stared intensely at the ground, but I knew he was looking at me. I could feel his eyes glide over my cheeks, neck and chest. I crossed my arms to cover my breasts.

We went in before him. He sat politely on a kitchen chair and pushed his hair away from his face. My skin felt see-through again.

‘I brought this,’ he said and got out a rolled-up notebook from his pocket, putting it on the table. His fingers had left shining grease stains on the cover.

‘Is this your novel?’ Carral asked.

‘Yes. It’s not that long. It’s just a short book. It takes a long time to write verse.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘Do you want to read it?’ he asked and looked over at me, then at the book. His whisky breath intensified, became sweeter, more detailed. He thrust his fleshy sword into her tight warm sheath – the passage from Moon Lips sang inside my head.

‘I don’t know …’ I said.

‘Of course,’ Carral said.

‘It’s kind of about you two. Or people like you.’

I looked at the notebook, and it made me sick, just like those vague, waving memories from last night made me sick. My jaw tensed.

‘Do I create the world?’ I asked.

Pym smiled gently, shrugged. ‘It’s kind of feminist at least.’

I got up.

‘You should probably leave then, so we can read.’

‘I guess so.’