‘I don’t understand what’s so funny, if I’m honest.’ Betty looked to me for support but I’d tried hard not to get involved. The more interested I appeared, the more likely it was that I’d be accused of being curious, and I wasn’t sure what my face would do if that happened. I wasn’t curious-curious either, I was sure of it. But not sure enough for the conversation to feel comfortable.

‘Bett,—’ Molly handed her a glass ‘—don’t you think you’re just being nosy?’

‘I mean, no nosier than the rest of us are being when we talk about sex with men.’

‘She’s got a point there.’ Cora threw a cheese ball into her mouth. ‘If Lily were here—’

‘If Lily were here instead of getting busy with her post-grad boy toy, she’d definitely want to know more about it,’ Betty interrupted.

Faith slammed the window closed, then, and moved back to her beanbag next to the radiator. ‘Lily doesn’t need to ask me. She’s worldly enough to know these answers for herself. And no—’ she held a finger up in response to Betty’s dropped jaw ‘—I’m not accusing Lily of being a big lez, or even a little one, I’m just saying she’s read the right books.’

‘Okay, well gimme a reading list.’

‘Are you allowed to say “big lez”?’ Cora asked around another cheese ball.

‘Gay rights. I can, but you can’t.’ Faith’s phone pinged and it pulled her attention away from the conversation.

‘Is it her?’ Molly asked.

‘It is.’

I couldn’t help myself. ‘Who?’

Faith made me wait until she’d stopped texting before she answered. ‘Okay, you know Barker’s Pool Hall down in the city centre …’

I already knew what was coming. She was texting Audrey. She was the new bartender who’d joined Barker’s around a month earlier. Audrey went to our university, lived off-campus with her older-than-her boyfriend – who, rumour had it, had left his wife for Audrey six months back – and she was what I thought male writers must mean when they described a woman as drop-dead gorgeous. But she was nice with it. The few times I’d spoken to her – usually when it had been my round to buy – she’d asked how I was and how studies were, and she’d tilted her head in a way that made her look sincerely interested in my responses (even if she was being paid to ask the questions in the first place). She had a smile that warmed my insides and hair that I felt both jealous of and something else entirely towards – but I’d tried my utmost not to think too hard about the latter.

‘She’s with someone, though, right?’ Cora asked.

‘Ack, come on. How bothered is she if she’s texting me?’