We snacked our way through those afternoons – chocolates, little cakes, packets of buttery twice-cookeds. I felt myself slipping back to childhood, to sugar and make-believe. When sugary energy fizzed up in us, we’d pogo around to ‘Spanish Bombs’. There was also a bootleg of Klaus Nomi singing at a German club. We hit rewind over and over, striking dramatic poses and screaming, ‘TOTAL eclipse!’ while Nomi’s countertenor flew.

Minna’s favourite shirt was bubblegum pink with orange leaves. ‘I love this shade of pink,’ she told me. ‘It goes with everything. Neon colours are modern joy.’ Then she picked up a pair of scissors, saying, ‘I have to do this, Lili, you’re driving me nuts.’ In the bathroom, the basin was dusted with freckles of makeup. A black cross-hatching of hair joined them as Minna lopped off my fringe. A stranger’s face was waiting in the mirror. Minna looked as if someone had switched on a light inside her. She said, ‘Don’t you dare grow it again. Ever. Promise?’ She laid her cheek against mine and told my reflection, ‘Your skin’s the most beautiful colour.’

A crack of disappointment opened inside me. Minna might as well have said, See? I find dark skin attractive – congratulate me! ‘Ce n’est pas ang-ter-es-sung,’ I told her. It was our most cutting criticism. We went on examining each other in the mirror, our eyes juicy. Nick’s key grated in the door.

Dieter and I had a drink after work. I got home to find that the bulb on my landing had burnt out. What was more urgent was that I needed the W.C. I went straight up there, and when I came out I left the door open and the light on. I was fitting my key into my front door, aided by the faint illumination from above, when a voice spoke at my back. ‘Good evening, dear neighbour. Your bulb’s gone.’

Rinaldi had crept up silently behind me. I looked at his feet, as he stood there in the shadows at the head of the stairs – he was wearing sneakers. ‘Oh, I frightened you,’ he said, not apologetically. ‘It is typical of your sign to startle easily. A magnesium deficiency is also indicated.’ He held out something pale – an envelope. ‘A letter for you. It was in my box.’ He’d gathered it up with the rest of his mail, he told me, and only just discovered the mistake.

He handed me the envelope and our fingers touched. ‘Have you received a letter addressed to me, by any chance?’ he went on. ‘I’m expecting an important communication that seems to have been delayed.’ He propped himself against the wall, settling in for a chat.

I said that I hadn’t seen his letter. ‘But I’ll be sure to put it in your box if I do.’