Jessica returned like the spirit of social nicety with three neat little white cups and a cafetière on a silver tray, together with the dainty little sugar bowl my mother had left me and a tiny jug with cream in it. I was amazed to discover that I owned such a thing. I called Alysha a cab, which was less conspicuous than her waiting outside my house in the square, but proved to be a dreadful mistake. In the twenty minutes before the arrival of the taxi Jessica engaged her in conversation, and began to learn details about her life. Alysha spoke readily and warmly. She was looking to buy a new flat. Her parents were originally from Angola, but had come here before she was born. I knew she was funny and clever, that she did not like champagne, offered everything, smoked and preferred white wine to red, but beyond that I had no wish to go. Jessica was ruining her for me one detail at a time. Throughout the course of the conversation Alysha snuck little looks and conspiratorial nods at me under Jessica’s radar. It was clear that she no longer believed that Jessica was just a friend, and had deemed our late-night drinking session a budding romance. I felt the awkwardness of the situation escalate like a pain in the inner ear as a plane climbs away from the runway, building to a maddening climax.

I took my Scotch to the bathroom for five minutes to escape the tension, and sat with my head in my hands on the closed lid of the toilet. The smell of disinfectant, clean and inorganic, soothed my nerves. Even in there, however, I could hear the dull murmur of conversation seeping under the door. Eventually the thought that they might be discussing me and the fear of what details Jessica could divulge about my life drove me back into the living room. I downed the drink before I left, the empty glass making a satisfying clink when I set it down on the black porcelain bowl of the sink. I never really got drunk any more, but I was beginning to feel the companionable hum of alcohol in my system, like turning all the lights on for comfort in an empty building. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands for verisimilitude.

When the doorbell went to signal the arrival of the cab I leapt away like an athlete at the starter’s pistol crack, and was holding Alysha’s coat for her before she had even risen from her chair. She actually kissed Jessica goodbye on the cheek, and when we came out on to the stairwell she gave me a softer kiss on the mouth; I drew in a deep breath from the warmth of her skin, and placed my hand briefly on the boyish jut of her hip. She pulled away slowly, giving me a look of terrible sexless intimacy, like a big sister whose wayward playboy brother finally brings home the right girl. To ward off the moment I dug my hand in my pocket, pulled out my wallet and thrust a handful of notes between the two of us, twenties in a fan that briefly concealed her décolletage. She shrugged and took the money, folding it away into her neat little purse. She was a practical girl, and she knew better than to argue with money. I had given her two hundred, the standard half-fee for late cancellations, plus an extra fifty for her time. ‘Maybe I’ll see you next month,’ she said, with a pointed optimism on the ‘maybe’ that made my skin crawl.