The front door bumped.

‘Yeah, OK, in a minute.’ Fraser was sauntering up the stairs, holding my bag, as I came out.

I could hear his mum say something about fishcakes. Arse. Time to be mega-head-girl Polly again. Except it didn’t quite seem to be the time. Fraser waved his fingers in the air, the way Lottie did when she had just painted her nails and the taxi was already outside. He did it again, a small, flapping gesture, and reached past me, opening a door and shunting me inside.

‘Back in a sec,’ he said in a whisper, slinging my bag in after me.

It was the classic student-back-at-home bedroom, full of leftovers deemed not cool enough to take to uni. Old DVDs, posters of bands who were so hot right about two years ago and a few shitty airport crime novels. Single bed. A map of the world with pins stuck in it. Folders and books and a hefty laptop stacked in the corner. All quite unnervingly tidy.

Blurred murmuring mixed in with the telly downstairs. I pulled my skirt down over my thighs in front of the mirrored wardrobe and tried to look like I hadn’t been eating Fraser’s face off. Jesus, what did I care? I should just go down there. There was something about her, though. As if she’d put a hex on me.

I lay on the bed and wondered about getting naked and hiding under his creased duvet. Forget the niceties and just crack on. My lips were sticky, liquoricey.

The door opened. Fraser shut it behind him quietly and turned to me. ‘She was not supposed to be home.’

‘Never mind.’ He wasn’t coming over. I stood up and pushed him back against the door, putting my tongue behind his teeth. Might as well give as good as I got.

He held on to my wrists and pushed me away a little. ‘Polly. We can’t. Not here.’

Talk about changing your tune. Five seconds ago he’d been making jokes about me and the green-haired lesbian in the dumb film we were watching. ‘So? You’re not fifteen.’

‘I know, but – I promise you, she’ll kill me.’ I raised my eyebrows and he dropped his shoulders and looked at the carpet. ‘She’s dead religious. She hates me working in the bar but I need the money.’

‘What, no sex till you’re married sort of thing? Fraser’ – I looked at him with oodles of pretend sympathy and lowered my voice – ‘have you not had sex?’

He squirmed slightly and looked away. ‘Aye, of course I have. Shut up. Just – not here. Not now.’

Excellent. I liked a challenge. ‘Are you a God-lover too then?’

‘No. Just, you know, on Christmas and that, to keep her happy.’

‘Aw.’ I did my best pious look and turned it into a fluttery-eyelashed, whimpery puppy thing that also shouted I want sex.

‘Stop it.’

‘How will she know? Unless, you know, you bark like a dog when you come or something.’ I opened my mouth and he put a hand over it, and then clamped his lips on me instead. I was practically falling over laughing. ‘All right, fine, fine, I’ll go.’ I picked up my bag.