‘It’s just I read the whole play,’ Lucy said, ‘and I thought this woman has been through a lot. Why not give her a bunch of flowers?’

‘Right,’ the short actor said.

‘You don’t like it,’ Lucy said. ’You don’t like it. Let me go again.’

The two male actors looked traumatised.

Lucy grabbed the flesh of her face. ‘Soon I will grow old and die,’ she announced.

‘Are you saying that or is the character saying that?’ the short actor asked, as if at least trying to understand.

‘Oh both,’ Lucy said. ‘Both. I can declare it’s true. It’s something I learned on my recent exploration and discovery of myself, far away from here, far away from this college.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Spain.’

The girl-actor wiped away tears of mirth as Lucy, once more, stumbled behind the curtain. In that moment Natasha realised something, something so obvious she couldn’t believe it had taken her this long. She gathered up her bag and the papers on her lap. She stood up.

‘Thank you,’ she said to the troupe, as she exited. ‘I used to think you were all incredible assholes, but you’re not so bad. Please tell Lucy when she’s finished to meet me in the coffee shop.’

When she left the theatre she heard a glass smash. ‘It’s so hard to behave like a lady,’ Lucy screamed in a southern accent.

*

That night they met in the restaurant, after they had said goodbye to Professor Carr, kissing him on each cheek, making vague promises, Lucy and Natasha ran together through the city streets. What was happening to the city? Glass covered every millimetre. There were no faces, only glass. Natasha could hardly believe, in only two months, she would be expected to live in it forever.

Lucy’s apartment was full to the brim with colourful stuff, tiny handbags, bottles with labels identifying the style of scent, exercise equipment, beautification tools Natasha had never seen before. Nothing looked touched. It was as if there had been a reverse burglary. Lucy lay on her bed and seated Natasha beside her.

‘You know what I thought when I first saw you with the professor?’

‘What?’

‘I thought: there goes a real idiot.’

‘I see.’

‘And I had a crisis of conscience. Should I tell her she’s an idiot? Maybe she doesn’t know?’

‘That was thoughtful of you.’

‘I got hopelessly sucked into your emails.’

‘It was rude of you to read my emails.’

‘They were very compelling.’

‘Good, I suppose.’

‘And I figured I got you wrong. I like the clips your dad sends you. Did you write them?’

‘They are from television.’

‘I like books,’ Lucy said, airily. ‘Quotes.’

‘Oh.’

‘You don’t sound excited by books.’

Natasha was quiet.

Lucy flipped onto her stomach and held up an imaginary clipboard.

‘When I saw you outside the computer house,’ Lucy said, ‘your hair everywhere, spitting, throwing stones at the building, I couldn’t describe the feelings I had.’

‘No?’

‘I felt like I had finally found my artistic equal.’