At the mention of food my stomach growled like old machinery and we both laughed. ‘There’s so much leftover food in the kitchen.’

‘Mm. There were better things on offer. I’m not sending a woman home hungry though. Do you have a favourite place for breakfast?’

‘You mean, to go out or …’

‘You don’t want to be seen with me?’ She sounded playful, and from her profile I could see a growing smirk.

In the harsh sunlight of day, though, my horny teenager had been replaced by a desperately insecure one. ‘I was more worried, I mean … Do you want to be seen with me?’

‘Have you seen you?’ She turned around and set a kiss square on my mouth. ‘Who wouldn’t want to be seen with you? Raid my wardrobe for clothes, though, why don’t you? If I take you out for pancakes in that dress people will think we’re in a Pretty Woman situation.’

I laughed. ‘Are you saying I look like a sex worker?’

‘No.’ She upended the mug and drained it. ‘I’m saying you look like a leading lady.’

*

Fred styled my hair into the messy bun look that I’d come to associate with her. It was piled on top of my head with loose strands escaping and when she was finished she patted my shoulders – ‘Beautiful’ – and kissed the back of my neck. My back arched and she laughed, as though she’d expected the reaction. She handed me an oversized shirt and a belt to wear.

‘Ah, I don’t know if black tights will work,’ I said, slipping the shirt on. ‘Do you have leggings?’

She looked from my feet to my pelvis. ‘Don’t wear anything else.’

‘I …’ I rubbed at the back of my neck. ‘I don’t have the legs for that.’

‘For what?’

‘For not wearing tights.’

‘Sure you have legs.’ She was flicking through her wardrobe to find something for herself. Her bare back was facing me; the only thing covered was her bum, with a pair of patterned briefs. While I’d hidden myself in swathes of bedsheets, Fred had spent the last half an hour waltzing around the bedroom like she was there alone; naked and unashamed, and occasionally dancing to the Betty Who track that she’d put on repeat ‘to set the day up’. She wiggled her bum again, then, half-dancing but half-flipping through clothes still. ‘Edi, I can see where this is going,’ she carried on, still not facing me, ‘and take it from someone who spent a lot of time looking at your legs last night.’ She turned. ‘You’ve got the legs for anything.’

I didn’t argue, only blushed, buckled the belt up, and waited patiently on the edge of her bed while she tugged on cut-off jeans and a T-shirt with a small rainbow emblem on the upper right of it.