Everyone had started me-tooing. She was shocked by it, to be honest, as she thought she had a secret no-one else had. She thought she had a good reason to be crazy. Turns out every other woman she knew had the same secret, and that she therefore had no excuse for her behaviour. Turns out sex offenders were not ‘other’, but all around. Perhaps what she meant to say in her set was that they are in this room, they are here, they are us. Should we not let them speak before they act? Where are they to go? Who is a worried teenage boy to talk to? Should we not stop them from jumping off the bridge? That’s what she meant, maybe.

Still no reply from K and Lil.

She vomited in a millionaire’s hedge.

19

As soon as Jack landed a job, he grew a beard and moved to Finnieston, where resident males were also required to exude an aloofness indicative of complex inner thoughts.

Mary had a spare key, and let herself in. Jack’s dog, Marty, greeted her as excitedly as he could, considering she had no treats. Mary missed the hell out of Marty, gorgeous thing.

She assumed the award for Most Disgusting Flatmate would go to the custodian of the green powder that puffed in her face when she poked a (possible) satsuma on the kitchen table, but then she opened Jack’s door and was hit by hot, wet air, thick with particles of ejaculate and a Go India hoggie, and she pined for a decayed piece of fruit. Her husband was curled under the covers.

‘Roddie! Roddie, come out.’

He pulled at the duvet harder than she did.

‘What the fuck, Roddie? You can’t believe this shit. Talk to me. This is crazy. I fucked up, but I definitely did not fuck him. Holly’s lying. It’s Derek, can’t you see that? The book is number one on Amazon, you know, so it’s working. Don’t let his plan work on us, Rodster. Say something. Come out. Sit up. Are you okay? I love you! I love you more than ever. I didn’t shag the guy. When I answered Facebook I didn’t have my glasses on. I thought it was you. Talk to me. I didn’t sleep with him, I didn’t.’

Roddie threw his legs over the side of the bed and stared at the wall. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Well, I’ll convince you. Let me get the kettle on.’

In fact, the grossest-housemate award would go to the person whose baked beans were capped in a glorious mould of deep sky blue. She returned to Jack’s sweat pit. ‘There’s no tea or coffee.’

Roddie was still sitting in the same position, his hand spread out on the bedside table.

‘Let me take you home, baby.’

‘I want to stay here.’

‘Where’s Jack?’