Lauren does not gasp or look at all concerned by this momentous news. To be fair, she’s studying nursing, so the plight of a short story is hard to empathise with. I shouldn’t have said ‘short’, for a start. That gives the wrong impression. The shorter the story, the harder it is to write, I want to explain (which is something someone in class said, and it sounded smart and impressive, so I’m going to pretend it’s something I know to be true). I’m making art, I want to tell her, I’m trying to create something from nothing, I’m trying to make people feel something, I’m doing the hardest thing of all, I’m trying to make them chuckle to themselves and then feel a little bit sad, all in the space of 3000 words. None of these arguments will mean anything to Lauren, who goes to uni to learn things like how to save someone who is choking, administer life-saving medications and insert a catheter. I sag in defeat.

‘What about this top?’ she says, holding up something sheer and black.

‘It’s see-through,’ I say before I can stop myself. God, I sound so prim and proper. Let her be as naked as she wants. ‘But you’ll look hot,’ I say.

‘Thank you, I will,’ Lauren says, smiling at me.

I watch her shake out her toiletry bag and start doing her make-up in front of my dresser mirror. I have watched Lauren do her make-up so many times. I find the process incredibly soothing. I sit cross-legged and tell myself, Do not lecture Lauren. Do not give her rules. Do not give her ideas. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

But I can’t help myself.

‘You know you can’t bring anyone back here, right?’ I say. I’m light, I’m breezy, I’m relaxed, I just refuse to sleep on the couch while she has sex with some random in my clean, white sheets. Sheets that I just washed and dried and put on the bed this morning. That’s all. I am not a prude. I care about my sheets.

‘I won’t.’ She makes circles with her make-up sponge, blending the foundation and not really listening to me.

‘I’m serious.’ My voice is at least an octave higher than I would like. I clear my throat, try and get back down to relaxed levels.

‘I know, Brooke. Calm down.’ She walks over and smooshes my face with her hands as she says it, and I close my eyes. ‘Let me do your make-up,’ she says.