Simon had trailed off and he and Nat were gazing at each other in that way that made you want to say ‘get a room’. Actually, thinking about it, they’d been shagging a lot less recently, or more quietly anyway. I didn’t think I’d be so lucky tonight. Knowing that I needed more alcohol to knock me out, I stood up to buy a round. Si was drinking Guinness. I pointed at Nat’s glass. ‘What is that, vodka and orange?’

‘Just orange juice, please.’

I had to wait ages at the bar, and when I got back there was a girl standing by the table talking to Nat.

‘Hello,’ she said, looking at me.

It was the same girl who’d knocked on the door earlier. What was her name? Emily. That was it.

‘You didn’t tell me Emily called earlier,’ Nat said.

‘Oh… sorry. I forgot.’ I smiled apologetically at Emily, who smiled back then went off to the bar to buy herself a drink, after Natalie had invited her to join us.

As soon as I’d sat down, Simon said, ‘Oh shit, I forgot to tell you something too. Your mum called.’

I went cold. ‘My mum?’

‘Yeah. I was surprised, because I’ve never known her call before. Not like my mum – on the phone every other day.’

I couldn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘Did she say why she was calling?’

He shook his head.

‘Well, what did she say?’

‘She just asked if you were there. I told her you weren’t. And she said, “Can you tell him I called?” and put the phone down. Must have been the day before yesterday.’

I stood up. All of a sudden, I didn’t want any more to drink. The pub felt too hot, too packed. I couldn’t get any oxygen into my lungs. I said, ‘I’ve got to go.’

Simon didn’t get a chance to protest, because I turned swiftly and headed towards the exit, bumping into Emily on my way out. She went to say something but I swerved around her and pushed my way through the door, gulping down the cold night air and heading back here to the safety of my room.

Sunday

As soon as I woke up this morning I knew I had to see Siobhan. If I didn’t talk to her and try to make her see how good we would be together, then everything Mum used to say would be true. Gutless wonder. Coward. All that stuff. I still don’t know why she was calling me, and I’m not going to ring her back to find out. Maybe it was good news, though. Maybe she was calling to tell me she had a terminal illness.

I had a bath and shaved, nicking myself in a couple of places, having to press tissues against the spots to stem the flow of blood. Standing in front of the mirror with the Bic disposable in my hand, I imagined that it was actually a cut-throat razor and that Mum was standing behind me. I’d turn and there’d be blood on the bathroom floor.

After shaving, I sneaked into Si’s room and borrowed some of his aftershave, wincing as it stung my sore face. I put on my best trousers and my favourite shirt and looked in the mirror. I scrubbed up pretty well. A little thin, maybe, like Si said, but I’m no monster.

On the way to Siobhan’s I wondered if I should take her a present, but decided that the last presents I’d bought her hadn’t been very successful. It was best just to present myself. That little thought made me giggle as I walked up the hill.

There was no sign of her cat. I hadn’t seen him after the funeral either, but Siobhan hadn’t said anything so I assumed he must be okay. I felt clammy with nerves as I approached the front door, but as I wavered I heard Mum’s voice in my head and forced myself to do it. I rang the bell and waited.

She didn’t come.

I rang the bell again, and knocked, just in case the bell wasn’t working. Still no answer. For a writer, she seems to spend a hell of a lot of time out of the house.

I was about to turn away, when I became aware of something hot in my pocket. It really did feel as if the key was trying to burn its way through the material. I felt it calling out to me: Use me, use me. I took it out of my pocket. It was like a cigarette, begging me to smoke it, even though I knew it was bad for me. I couldn’t resist.

I unlocked the door and slipped inside. And this time I knew where I wanted to go. Towards the inner sanctum. Up the stairs. Where I could learn more about her.

There were a number of framed photographs on the wall beside the stairs. Like before, I wanted to touch them but resisted. They were black and white pictures of a very beautiful woman, wearing clothes from the twenties or thirties. I realised this must be a relative of Siobhan’s – she had the same eyes and those kissable lips. But I knew how dangerous it was to touch. When I ran out of Kathy’s flat, terrified that someone would see me leaving, I’d been worried about fingerprints. I’d taken the beer bottle with me so there was no sign that somebody else had been with Kathy that fatal evening. The only way they’d find that out would be if they dusted for fingerprints, and they’d only do that if they suspected foul play. I was incredibly relieved when I saw the newspaper report, with its reassuring words. A drunken accident, nothing suspicious.

I reached the top of the stairs. There was a framed copy of the cover of TLC; paperbacks were stacked on a table. There were three rooms leading off the hall: a small room which I looked inside, finding that it was piled high with junk (cardboard boxes, old teddy bears, more books, an old record player and accompanying vinyl; the debris of Siobhan’s childhood?; stuff that she can’t use but can’t throw away either); a bathroom; and a master bedroom. It was all very neat – even the junk room had a certain orderliness about it – and tastefully decorated. I wondered if Siobhan got lonely living here on her own. Had Phil ever lived here with her? I hated to think of him fouling the air; it was like thinking of a burglar invading this sacred space, violating it. I was so glad that my warning had worked and that he hadn’t been back. I’d done two women a big favour that day.

I went into the bathroom first. Again, very tidy, spotlessly clean. The mirror gleamed – not like the mirror here in my flat, with its layer of dust and specks of shaving foam and toothpaste mottling your reflection. I had to deliberately slow down my breathing when I saw the bath. There were candles around it, all the wonderful lotions and potions that most women seem to have: bubble bath, several varieties of oil and bath soak and Japanese crystals, whatever they were. This was where Siobhan spent her most private, naked moments. I put my hand into the bath and stroked the plastic. There was a hair on the side – one she’d missed when cleaning the bath. I ran it between my fingers, then rolled it into a small ball and put it in my pocket.

I opened the bathroom cabinet and looked inside. Headache tablets, assorted pills in small brown plastic bottles. Dental floss and tweezers; nail clippers and cotton buds. All the little things she used to make herself more beautiful. I moved onto the bottom shelf and found some contact lens solution. Next to that were a number of tubes. Savlon, for when poor Siobhan gets a cut or sore skin. Deep Heat, for when Siobhan gets muscular pains and doesn’t have someone on hand to give her a massage. Preparation H for when… well, maybe Phil did used to live with Siobhan after all.

I closed the cabinet door and looked down at the toilet. It practically sparkled. Again, nothing like the toilet in my flat. I unbuttoned my jeans, pushed them down and sat on the toilet seat. Just for a few seconds. I didn’t do anything, just sat there. Then I stood, pulled up my trousers and headed towards the bedroom.

It was a lovely room, the walls painted white, more Modigliani pictures on the walls: those naked women, stretched out, purring. And speaking of such things, Siobhan’s cat was lying on the bed, blinking at me. I felt a whoosh of relief. He was okay, after all. I sat down beside him and stroked him, eliciting sounds of pleasure. A splash of dribble fell from his lips onto the quilt. Siobhan wouldn’t like that. In fact, I was surprised she let the cat sleep on the bed, what with all that fur and the risk of fleas. Perhaps she was a bit freer in the bedroom. Perhaps the bedroom is where the real Siobhan emerges, a glorious sexual butterfly stretching her wings…