The taxi sped us to the hospital. As it turned out of our street I heard the wail of an ambulance behind us. Holding Natalie’s hand, I thought about Siobhan, about how proud of me she’d be if she saw me now, helping my friend out. She had spoken to me as if I was a monster… a stalker, for fuck’s sake. But I was just a boy in love, following a long tradition of people gripped by love, by the madness and passion invoked by that emotion, obsessed – I admit it – but dangerous?

I turned to Natalie, whispered, ‘Hang on, hang on, it’s going to be okay. Hold on, Siobhan...’

She leaned against me. She was warm, and I closed my eyes and imagined that this was a normal taxi ride home, that the girl leaning against me was in love with me, that we were going back to her room where she would undress and wrap herself around me, soothe me with kisses, her body a balm for my wounds.

‘We’re here,’ the taxi driver said, and I was startled from my reverie, remembering where I was, who I was with, what I was doing. The taxi driver and I helped Natalie to the entrance of Accident and Emergency.

I grabbed a nurse and said, ‘She’s having a miscarriage.’ And then she was swept away, down a corridor that stank of medicine and death and blood and life. They would make her better now. Make it all better.

I looked up and realised the cabbie was still standing there.

‘Oh.’ I reached into my pocket and pulled out all the money I had. £2.37. And a couple of furry bits of chewing gum.

The taxi driver tutted and shook his head. ‘Forget it,’ he said, and walked away.

I hung around in the waiting room for a long time, watching the weak and the wounded trail past, each begging in turn for help, the meek and the belligerent, the accident-prone and, being stretchered past, the just plain prone. I was amazed how many drunks there were milling around, demanding attention, breathing foul fumes over the other patients, considering it was only early evening. I wanted to go home, back to my cave to mope and think, but I couldn’t leave Natalie. I hadn’t even known she was pregnant. Maybe she and Simon hadn’t known… Suddenly, I realised I hadn’t called him. Shit. The doctors might have called him, but Natalie hadn’t been in a lucid enough condition to tell them his number, and they probably assumed I was her boyfriend.

I waited for a Scottish drunk to stop shouting at his wife on the only visible pay phone (he and I must have been the only people there without mobiles) then called Simon. The phone’s mouthpiece stank of stale whiskey. It made me want to puke, but at the same time made me think how nice it would be to have a drink. God, I could taste it – bottled oblivion, calling my name.

Simon arrived within 15 minutes, his face as pale as a hospital sheet, and he immediately spoke to the receptionist and disappeared up one of the corridors.

I waited a while longer, really craving that drink now, thinking that maybe I’d end up here again later, another ranting drunk who lost a fight with his dignity. Then Simon came out and found me. His eyes were pink and moist, and he put his hand on my shoulder.

‘Thank you for getting her here,’ he said.

I nodded. ‘Was it . . ?’

‘A miscarriage. There was some medical term they used but,’ he touched his head, ‘I’m finding it hard to retain information right now. I was only just starting to get used to the fact she was pregnant. We were going to tell everyone about it this weekend.’ He blinked at me. ‘They said she was in danger... and that it was lucky she got here when she did. So, thank you.’

I thought he was going to hug me, but he just squeezed my shoulder again, his eyes shining.

‘Do you want me to hang around for a while?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘No, it’s fine. You can get going, if you like.’

‘Okay.’

I turned to go, and he said, ‘Alex.’

I looked at him.

‘Thanks, mate.’

I nodded. ‘No problem.’

I walked home, feeling strange and lightheaded, the adrenaline settling in my system. I wondered if there was some protocol I should be following right now. A card? Flowers? I decided to leave it. Cards and flowers usually got me into trouble.

I reached the flat and watched TV for a while. At about eight, Simon rang.

‘How is she?’ I asked.

‘They’re going to keep her in overnight, so I’m going to stay here for a while, until they chuck me out. Look, I called to ask if you could do us a favour. Nat was supposed to be going out with Emily tonight and I don’t have her number on my phone. Can you find it for me? It’s pinned up on the notice board.’

‘Sure.’

I went into the kitchen and located the scrap of paper that showed Emily’s number. I took it down, went back into the living room and read out the digits.

‘That’s great.’ He paused. ‘Actually, you should give her a call yourself.’

‘Who?’

‘Who do you think? Emily.’

‘Sorry? Why?’

‘Because she likes you, brains. Listen, do you want me to send her round?’

‘What? Now?’

He made an exasperated sound. ‘Of course now.’

‘No, no, it’s fine. I...’

‘Alex, I’ve got to go. I need to call Emily then get back to Nat. If you want to act on the info I’ve just given you, call her later. I can guarantee she won’t say no.’ He hung up.

Emily. Emily. I hadn’t really thought about her much since meeting her; I had been too consumed by Siobhan. I didn’t really know whether I liked Emily or not – I was just so surprised that she liked me. Shocked and flattered and excited and scared. And confused. I stared at the scrap of paper, where her name and number were written in blue biro. I ran the tip of my finger over the numbers. This girl liked me. Fancied me. I should ring her and then we could meet up and go for a drink, maybe go on a second date, do all those things that Siobhan was talking about when I was sitting on her sofa, all those things that lead to love.

But this isn’t Siobhan. This isn’t the woman I want to be with. Oh Emily, why is your timing so bad? – I’m already in love with somebody else. If I call you now, I’ll be betraying the woman I love. It will be like being unfaithful.

But Siobhan doesn’t love you, whispered a voice in my head, a voice that sounded very much like Mum’s. She thinks you’re a stalker. She doesn’t want you.

I was so confused. But staring at Emily’s number, all I could see was Siobhan’s face. Hardly realising I was doing it, I screwed the piece of paper into a ball. I walked into the kitchen and dropped it into the bin, looking up and seeing my reflection in the window, bright against the outside world, glowing like a ghost of myself in the dark.

I’d like to be able to say that the telephone rang at that precise moment – it would appeal to my literary sensibilities – but it didn’t. I wandered around, ate a sandwich, drank a can of beer that had been lurking at the back of the fridge since the summer. I went to the toilet and then watched some more TV. I was feeling numb, and so worn out that I didn’t have the energy to worry any more. I knew the anxiety would return tomorrow, or maybe in the middle of the night; I knew the yearning would come back. Maybe I would go to see Siobhan again. Try to persuade her to give me a chance. To try to get it through to her: we are meant to be together. Tell her about love and pain.

And then the telephone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Um…hi. Is that Alex? This is Emily, Natalie’s friend.’

‘Emily.’

‘Yes. Simon just called and told me what happened. Poor, poor Nat.’

‘I know.’

Neither of us really knew what to say. Then Emily said, ‘Alex… um, I was wondering if… well… God, actually I worry that this is in really bad taste, thinking about myself when my friend’s just lost a baby… but Simon told me how you rushed Nat to hospital and how grateful he was and it made me start thinking about you and I couldn’t resist calling…’ She was really babbling; she sounded even more nervous than I felt.