‘Happy New Year!’ said Chloe as the fireworks finally finished and the smoke hung in the inky air.

‘Cheers,’ said Max, tilting his glass against hers.

‘Happy New Year, my two favourite people,’ said Zadie.

After a while, even the drink couldn’t keep them warm, so the three of them descended the stairs. ‘This is my room,’ said Max. ‘Right next door to Mummy and Daddy, so there’s no corridor-creeping to be had, as if their darling daughter was still virgo intacta.’ A smile played across his lips as he directed those last words at Chloe.

Chloe resolved that the moment – no, the second – she had the chance to have sex, she was going to do it. And then she would make sure that Zadie told Max, so that the word ‘virgin’ couldn’t haunt her any longer.

Chloe followed behind Zadie. As they reached her room Chloe paused, one hand steadying her on the door frame.

‘Can I ask something?’

‘Of course.’

‘Your dad said that he and your mum told you to invite me.’

Zadie didn’t look flustered. Or embarrassed. What must it be like to be that cool, all the time? ‘They did. They think you’re brilliant. Apparently, you’re a good influence, which I know sounds boring but is actually very nice from them, because they do pretty much hate everyone.’

‘You didn’t invite anyone else.’

‘I invited Max.’

‘But no one else. Did you want me to come? Or was this just to keep convincing them you’re living in our room?’

Zadie picked up Chloe’s hands and gripped them with her long fingers. Her skin was still freezing cold, even with the warmth of the house. ‘I literally never do anything because my parents want me to. I asked you because I wanted you to come. You’re my best friend.’

16

Now

A few minutes later a text pinged, telling her that her driver would arrive in fifteen minutes. So predictable of Max to have a luxury car service on tap. She stood under the lukewarm water of the shower, wondering if she could really go through with the evening. She scrubbed crudely between her legs, under her arms, along her neck. Then she covered herself with an expensive oil Rav’s mother had given her for Christmas. It had a heavy, sexy scent which always felt wrong to wear to work and too grown-up for her.

She pulled a white dress from the wardrobe, which she didn’t wear often because the front needed safety-pinning. The lace of her orange-pink bra peeped out, rude against the white broderie anglaise. She didn’t pin it.