‘Adam! I’ve finished . . .’

She tailed off when she saw Becky, and the DVD she held aloft in her hand sunk to her side. ‘Didn’t realize you had company,’ she said.

‘This is Becky,’ said Adam, gesturing. ‘And this is Trixie.’

Trixie was pretty and plump with purplish-black tousled hair and enormous brown eyes. She was wearing – inappropriately, considering the weather outside, thought Becky – a pink-cotton vest pyjama top and shorts. On her feet were large fluffy bootee slippers.

She looked Becky up and down, hiding her hostility badly. Becky, in her inebriated state, was torn between feeling annoyed – wondering exactly who Trixie was – and a perverse superior sensation of being the one going up to Adam’s flat. She knew this irked Trixie, which was ridiculous, as Becky didn’t think of him in that way at all.

‘Good night?’ asked Trixie.

‘Yes. At Shiraz. Becky is a friend from uni. Waiting until her cab arrives.’

Trixie nodded and appraised Becky again. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said insincerely. She turned to Adam and smiled. ‘We still on for the movies tomorrow night?’ she said, which Becky thought was more for her benefit than anything else.

‘Course,’ said Adam. ‘I’ll come and knock for you.’

‘Great!’ Trixie beamed, and Becky felt her watching as she followed Adam up the stairs, her smile no doubt morphing into a scowl.

His flat was immaculate. Fresh white walls, wooden floors and expensive plantation shutters. Furniture that was well made, comfortable, sturdy. Lamps were deftly placed, rugs had been chosen in subtle shades of neutral and well-controlled colour. The whole effect was like something out of a John Lewis catalogue. He flicked a switch near the fireplace and the coals began to flicker and glow in the most realistic way. It was a flat for a grown-up, with a grown-up lifestyle. It spoke of career success and a new independence. Becky was surprised. He hadn’t shown much interior-design aptitude at the house he’d shared with her friend and, in fact, she distinctly remembered passing his open bedroom door once and seeing a stack of science magazines passing as a bedside table and a plastic supermarket bag masquerading as a bin.

‘Wow,’ she said.

‘Not me. Mum made it nice.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘Makes me sound inept – which I am. But it’s not like she’s here all the time. Never, in fact, well obviously she came to organize the place and she pops in every now and then to say hello . . .’ He trailed off, realizing he was digging a hole. ‘Coffee?’ he said brightly, leading her to the equally well-thought-out kitchen.

He wrestled with the cafetière and then poured them both extremely strong coffees.

‘Sugar?’ he asked, and Becky shook her head. He then added some for himself.

‘Three spoons?!’ exclaimed Becky.

He blushed. ‘It’s a prop. For, er . . . extreme situations,’ he said and then blushed some more.

There was a self-conscious moment between them, and Becky found herself going a little red too.