There was a Mangiamo in almost every town. Enough of a treat that it was exciting to visit, but not so prohibitively expensive that it was beyond the likes of Chloe’s family. Mangiamo was where Chloe had been taken for her eighteenth-birthday dinner. Greg had made a big deal about how they could order anything they wanted, even though he and her mother had entirely joint finances. Her mother had liked it, playing the little wife, as if she didn’t work five days a week at a call centre and pour all her money into their shared bank account, which Greg without any compunction used to buy golf clubs and rounds for his mates. She couldn’t decide what to say. She wasn’t gauche enough to express that she was impressed, though she was, undeniably.

‘My parents hate his parents,’ Zadie went on. ‘That’s why they don’t want us to live together. They think Max is spoilt and his parents are nouveau riche, which, as far as they’re concerned, is the greatest sin a person can commit.’

This comment wasn’t any more use. Chloe still wasn’t sure what to say. Admittedly, she wasn’t nouveau riche, because she wasn’t riche, but she couldn’t imagine that Astrid or Bob would have much time for her parents. Or her. But that was okay. Even if the single benefit of their friendship, in the eyes of Zadie’s parents, would be that she was a ‘good influence’, that would be all right. She’d spent her entire teenage years with other people’s parents saying, ‘Why don’t you spend time with that nice Chloe girl?’, rendering her as unappealing as it was possible to be. So perhaps she was going to have to be here tonight to make sure Zadie didn’t choke on her own vomit. Was that really who she wanted to be? The sensible friend who stood in the background making sure nothing serious happened? She shook her head, trying to stop thinking about it. She was making friends with her room-mate. Nothing more complicated than that.

‘How was the rest of the party?’

‘Oh, it was fine. The same as always, really.’

‘Did, um—’ She broke off. But she’d started the question now. She would have to finish it. ‘Did your friend Rav say anything about me?’

Zadie finished her wine. ‘Are we out? And who’s Rav?’

‘No, there’s still a little bit left.’ She went to tip the remainder into Zadie’s mug but stopped herself halfway, saving a good glug for herself. She watched the dark red splash into the white mug and felt a little thrill of pride.

‘Tall. Handsome. Plays rugby with Max.’

‘Could be any of them.’

‘He’s—’ She stopped, trying to work out whether she was about to say the wrong thing. ‘His parents are Pakistani. He studies Engineering.’