‘Chris L,’ I began. And then the door yanked open from the inside – the key in the lock, my hand on the key.

It was Dan, and he had one of those towels wrapped around his waist, with another wrapped around his hair. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Please come inside. What are you, a fishmonger?’

I looked at my phone. I’d hung up, or Chris L had.

‘Because fishmongers spend lots of time loudly talking outdoors,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Follow me.’ He marched upstairs.

I followed him up, zombied, and he sat on the edge of his bed.

‘I missed you today,’ he said. ‘Happy new year. Sit down with me.’ He tightened the towel around his waist and patted the side of the bed.

‘It’s not even the new year,’ I murmured. But I did as he said.

‘I keep wanting to talk to you.’

I stared at the phone in my hand.

‘Okay,’ I said.

His hand on the bed. I looked at it. Where I was meant to be.

‘I’m moving in with Lachlan,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that exciting?’

I dropped the phone.

‘Very cool,’ I said.

And strangely, I was dead.

PART 3

THE NATURAL CONCLUSION

You held out your hand for an egg, and fate put into it a scorpion.

Charlotte Brontë

I was sitting very straight. My chest was turned towards him.

I told him it was wonderful.

‘That’s wonderful news,’ I said.

It was another automatism; I did not choose to speak. But I told him I loved Lachlan, and Lachlan was a catch, and everything would be just fine, and did I mention – Lachlan?

My blood was racing, and I knew my face was bloody-red, but I will always be proud that, in this most horrible moment, I borrowed some adult composure from Dimension X and managed to express only my absolute supportiveness. If I hadn’t said what I said – he’s your Lachlan, I enthused – it’s likely that our friendship would have ended there and then. I was not used to pulling my weight, but it turned out I could do so in a moment of danger by repeating a single word: Lachlan. Lachlan, Lachlan. I was babbling, agreeing. ‘It’s my friend, your boyfriend . . . Lachlan!’

‘I know his name.’ Dan was laughing. ‘Steady on,’ he said.

He closed his eyes, his mouth twisted in soft bows, pleasure lips.

‘Thank you,’ he said formally. My hands on the bed twitched. Now he was holding them; they seized and squeezed his fingers. ‘Ow, no,’ he said. ‘But thanks. Do you actually like Lachlan?’

‘Yes. I didn’t used to.’

‘I know that,’ he said. ‘What are you doing with your hands?’

They’d rictussed into pincers. ‘Not sure,’ I said.

He shook himself off, animal. ‘I think I should go,’ he said.

‘Now?’ I yelped.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It’s New Year’s Eve.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Some party in the city.’

‘Yuck.’