One Minute to Midnight

CHAPTER Eight



New Year’s Eve, 1999

London



Resolutions:

1. Get a job! Any job! Preferably one in TV though



2. Lose half a stone



3. Go to Marrakech, take a trip into the Sahara (or the Atlas mountains?)

4. Read The Times and the Guardian every day



5. Go bunjee jumping. Or sky-diving.

‘I JUST DON’T see why we’re all making so much fuss when it isn’t actually the millennium tonight.’

‘Oh will you shut up with that?’ Julian lobbed a pillow at my head.

‘Well, it’s true. The actual start of the third millennium is 1 January 2001, not 1 January 2000. We’re a year early.’

Alex groaned and laid back on the bed. ‘Will you stop trying to spoil our fun? I don’t care if it’s the real millennium tonight or next year, tonight is when everyone’s celebrating it, so stop being such a downer.’

‘Exactly,’ Jules agreed. ‘Tonight we are, quite literally, going to party like it’s 1999.’

‘It is 1999.’

‘Oh, just drink some champagne and cheer up, will you?’

The three of us were sitting on Alex’s bed, drinking cheap cava and helping Alex choose her outfit for the evening. At that moment she was wearing a red Gucci mini-dress (bought with her entire student loan in the summer sale) and high heels.

‘You’ll freeze to death,’ I told her.

‘Yes, but her corpse will look f*cking fabulous,’ Julian said. He took a photograph of her; she posed for the camera, model-esque.

‘Well, I’m wearing jeans,’ I said. ‘And lots of layers. A woolly jumper. And Doc Martens.’

Alex wrinkled her nose at me in disgust. ‘You can’t wear a woolly jumper, Nicole. We’re on the guest list at Fabric.’

‘Well if we’re on the guest list, we should we able to wear whatever the hell we like. In any case, before we get to Fabric we’re going to be standing on the banks of the Thames for hours, freezing our arses off. You’ll be miserable as sin by eleven, I’m warning you.’

Alex kicked off her heels, unzipped her dress and let it fall to the ground. She was wearing bright pink underwear. Julian took some more photographs.

‘You’d better not show anyone those, Jules,’ she said, as she rifled despairingly though another rack of garments.

‘Oh, I was thinking of blowing them up and hanging them in the living room. If you’ve got it, you know, may as well …’

The two of them started giggling, which got on my nerves. I swilled back more cava in an attempt to perk myself up a bit. To be perfectly honest, I was feeling grumpy. I didn’t want to stand for ages on the banks of the Thames looking at fireworks and I didn’t want to go to some uber-trendy club where Alex and Julian would fit in effortlessly and I’d stand around feeling incredibly uncool. If it had been up to me, we’d have just had a party at home, but my flatmates refused. Not entirely unreasonably, it had to be admitted, since you couldn’t fit more than fifteen people into our place at the very most.

Julian, Alex and I had been living in a flat on Heneage Street, just off Brick Lane, since the summer. A tiny three-bed with a galley kitchen and a shower room (no bath), it was poky and cramped, with paint peeling off the walls in the hallway and rising damp in the bathroom. We loved it. A stone’s throw from the Whitechapel Gallery, a short hop to Shoreditch and all the curry you could eat right on your doorstep.

I couldn’t remember being happier: Jules and I had been dreaming about sharing a flat (in New York, or Paris, or Barcelona, or London) since he was seventeen and I was fifteen. Having Alex in the mix just added to the fun. I loved our lazy Sunday brunches at the Cantaloupe, I loved the evenings spent sitting on our tatty sofa drinking cheap Rioja and eating pizza while watching EastEnders; most of all I loved the fact that Jules could crawl into bed with me at three in the morning after a big night out and tell me all about his adventures.

And so what if the flat wasn’t exactly the luxury apartment of our teenage dreams? It wasn’t like we had a lot of choice: it was all we could afford. Julian was earning peanuts working as an assistant for a freelance photographer, Alex had landed her dream job in a publishing house, but she was starting at the very bottom of the ladder so she was earning peanuts too, and I wasn’t earning anything at all. My three-month graduate trainee-ship at Optimum, a TV production company, had ended without my being taken on permanently. That was five weeks previously, and I was yet to find a new job. Frankly, I was starting to panic.

Which was another reason for my being unseasonably grumpy that New Year.

‘If I don’t find anything in the next month, I’m going to have to move home,’ I moaned to Julian, while simultaneously trying to feign interest in Alex’s sixth wardrobe change.

‘Never going to happen. I won’t let you.’

‘I’m running out of money, Jules. By February I won’t be able to pay the rent.’

‘Then we’ll sub you one month’s rent. You’re not going home.’

‘You don’t have any money either, Julian.’

‘I’ll quit smoking. It’s on my list of resolutions.’

‘It’s always on your list of resolutions.’

Alex pirouetted around in front of us in gold hot pants and a sheer black top.

‘No!’ I protested. ‘I am not going anywhere with you looking like that. Seriously. You look like a stripper.’

‘Now there’s a solution to our money problems,’ Julian said with a grin. ‘Let’s send Alex out to work at Spearmint Rhino. Oh my god!’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘You even have the perfect stripper name. “Lexi Rose”!’ he exclaimed, waving an arm from left to right as though presenting the billing.

Alex threw a feather boa at him and downed the rest of her sparkling wine.

‘Well, I think I look good in these.’

‘You look amazing, Lexi Rose, you really do,’ I said. ‘But I’m still not going anywhere with you dressed like that.’

An hour or so later, we were ready to go. Alex was back in the red Gucci dress, Julian was devastatingly gorgeous in jeans and a leather jacket. I was wearing jeans too, though Alex had managed to persuade me out of my woolly jumper and Doc Martens and into a daringly low-backed top and heels. The three of us walked arm in arm along Brick Lane, heading north towards Shoreditch where we were planning to hit a few bars before making for the river. A motorbike roared past on our right-hand side. Alex jumped, almost tripping over the pavement in her haste to get out the road.

‘Wanker!’ she called out after the bike, flicking a ‘V’ sign at his back. To my alarm, the motorcyclist slowed, turned the bike around and headed back towards us.

‘He can’t have heard me, he can’t possibly have …’ Alex said.

‘Might have seen you though …’ Julian replied.

The bike came to a halt just in front of us. ‘Oh crap,’ Alex muttered. My legs had turned to jelly, but not because I was afraid of being beaten up in a road rage incident. I knew who it was even before he took off the helmet.

I hung back while Aidan and Julian embraced. Aidan looked tired and gaunt, there were dark circles beneath those beautiful green eyes.

‘Wanker!’ Alex muttered again. Then she grabbed my arm and pulled me closer. ‘Do not, under any circumstances, sleep with him tonight,’ she hissed in my ear.

I rolled my eyes at her. ‘Of course I’m not going to sleep with him,’ I whispered. ‘I haven’t forgiven him for costing me my first. Or for breaking up me and Stewart. I’m totally over him in any case.’

And then Aidan put his arms around me and buried his face in my neck, murmuring, ‘Hello, beautiful,’ and I felt like I’d come home. We held on to each other for just a little too long, oblivious to the noise and the people around us. Alex broke the spell.

‘Hello, wanker,’ she said. ‘You nearly killed me back there, you know.’

‘Nah, I knew what I was doing. Just giving you a little buzz.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Going to a tarts and vicars party, are we?’ She slapped him, not quite playfully, across the face, then gave him a kiss on the cheek.

‘Wash your mouth out,’ she said. ‘This is Gucci. And we’re going to a party at Fabric later. We’re on the guest list; you are not.’

‘But you’re very welcome to join us for drinks and fireworks,’ Julian said, stepping in between the two of them. ‘Although I’d imagine that an international playboy like your good self would have plans for the biggest New Year’s Eve of all time?’

Aidan shrugged. ‘It’s not even the proper millennium, you know,’ he said, and I wanted to kiss him.

Aidan parked his bike outside our flat and the four of us set off once again: Alex’s mood just a little less chirpy, Julian delighted to see his cousin again, me in the state of emotional turmoil typically associated with Aidan’s proximity. Aidan, as usual, seemed completely oblivious to the impact he was having on everyone else.

Alex, teetering a little in her heels, linked her arm through mine as we followed behind the boys.

‘So,’ she said, giving me a knowing little smile, ‘it’s you, me and the Symonds boys for New Year’s Eve. Who’d have thought it?’

I smiled at her. ‘Well, it’s made Julian’s night,’ I said. Julian and Aidan were walking a few paces ahead of us, chatting animatedly about Aidan’s recent travels in Africa.

‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’ Alex said, smiling at them, ‘how much Julian adores him. They couldn’t really be more different.’

‘Oh, I don’t know …’

‘Oh, come on. Okay, same smouldering looks, I’ll grant you, but Jules is so sensitive and sweet and completely selfless, whereas Aidan …’

‘You don’t know him, Alex. There’s a whole history there that you don’t know about.’

Alex rolled her eyes, her expression pained. She’d never admit it but she hated hearing about that history, she hated the fact that she was excluded from a whole chunk of Julian and my friendship. ‘Seriously, when Julian first came out, Aidan was amazing to him. Jules didn’t have the easiest time of it – with his dad, with people at school, but Aidan was always there for him.’

‘So that’s it, is it?’ Alex asked.

‘That’s what?’

‘The reason you like him so much. Because he loves Julian as much as you do.’

‘Well, not the only reason …’

‘Yeah, I refer you back to the smouldering good looks.’

‘There’s more to him than that, Alex.’

She cast a suspicious sideways glance at me. ‘Oh god, you’re totally going to sleep with him tonight, aren’t you?

‘Of course I’m not!’ I huffed. ‘I told you, I’m over him.’ Perhaps if I said it often enough, I might convince myself.

We arrived at the Bricklayer’s Arms, scene of our first pint. Alex and I grabbed a table in the corner while the boys got the drinks in.

‘We could always ditch them,’ Alex said to me. ‘You and I can go off and do our own thing. Pick up some exciting new boys for the new millennium. And if you say it isn’t the new millennium one more time, I’m going to smack you.’

‘We’re not abandoning Jules on New Year’s Eve, Alex. Plus, you’ve been looking forward to this thing at Fabric for weeks. And you’re risking hypothermia just so you’ll look good on the podium when we get there.’

‘Just so long as it’s Julian you want to be around,’ Alex whispered as Julian and Aidan approached with the drinks. Gin and tonics for Alex and me, a pint for Julian and something that looked suspiciously like orange juice for Aidan.

‘You planning on driving somewhere later?’ Alex asked.

Julian shook his head ever so slightly.

‘Just pacing myself,’ Aidan replied. I shot Julian a quizzical glance, he shook his head again, mouthing, ‘later’ at me.

We drank our drinks, laughing hysterically while Julian regaled us with tales from the photography studio: the woman who’d brought in her seven cats ‘to sit for a portrait’ (‘I spent four hours literally herding cats. Literally.’); the blond teenagers who came in and promptly whipped their tops off (‘practising for page three, innit?’); the lothario from Lahore who came in with a new bride-to-be every other week – the ladies were to be professionally photographed so that he could send the images to his mother back in Pakistan for approval.

It struck me that it was the first time the four of us had ever sat around a table together and had a drink, and it felt so good, it felt perfect. I wanted to bottle that moment, to keep it forever: me, sitting at a table in East London, young and happy and drink in hand, with my best friends and Aidan. The man I was over. Completely over.

As we left the pub and headed for the next bar, Julian fell back in step with me, while Alex and Aidan walked ahead, trading teasing insults as they went.

‘What was that about?’ I asked Julian. ‘The orange juice?’

‘Oh, he’s just taking it easy,’ Julian replied, without meeting my eye.

‘Julian,’ I said, taking his arm and turning him to face me, ‘come on. Aidan’s taking it easy? Seriously?’

Julian sighed. ‘He’s on antidepressants. The past year’s been a bit harrowing, apparently. Don’t say anything, he doesn’t want to make a big deal about it. Just … I don’t know. Be nice. And tell Alex not to be too hard on him, okay?’

‘I’m always nice,’ I replied, and Julian put his arm around me and squeezed.

‘I know you are, my darling. I know you are.’

We swapped around again, Julian catching up with Aidan while I hung back with Alex, who was struggling to keep pace in her heels.

‘He was asking lots of questions about you …’ Alex told me as she took my arm.

‘Really?’ I asked, much too eager.

‘Oh yes,’ she replied, raising her eyes to the heavens, ‘you’re totally over him.’

‘Piss off,’ I said, giving her a friendly shove. I tried not to take the bait, I really did, but I couldn’t help myself. ‘So, what was he asking?’

‘Oh, you know. How is she, what’s she up to, is she seeing anyone … That kind of thing. I told him you were shagging an investment banker with a big dick.’

‘You did not!’ I shrieked, shoving her again.

‘Well, you did have a one-night stand with that investment banker, and I seem to recall you saying …’

‘All right!’ I cut her off. ‘That’s quite enough of that.’

She giggled. ‘Okay, I didn’t say that, but I did say that you had no shortage of offers.’

I smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Alex. That’s well put.’

‘I still think you should steer clear of him.’

‘I know you do. And I know he hasn’t exactly treated me fantastically in the past, but I can’t help the way I feel …’

‘I thought you said you were over him? I thought you just said you hadn’t forgiven him for last time.’

‘But it’s not really his fault I didn’t get a first, is it? And it’s not actually his fault I broke up with Stewart. I blame him, because it’s easier to do so, but I was the one who let myself be distracted, I was the one who didn’t work hard enough and I was the one who chose to run off with him the moment he turned up. No one had a gun to my head.’

We’d arrived at the King’s Head, the next pub on our crawl. Alex dropped my arm, turned to face me and gave a sad little smile. ‘One day, you’re going to have to start saying no to him, Nic. Otherwise he’ll just keep turning up, turning your life upside down and then disappearing off into the distance in search of a new adventure. Men like him never stick around, you know.’

I went to the bar to get the drinks. Aidan disappeared off to put something on the jukebox. When I got back to the table, Julian grabbed my arm.

‘Guess what, Nic,’ he said excitedly, ‘Aidan’s here to stay. He’s got a job in London. He’s sticking around this time.’

I looked across at Alex, trying not to smile. She rolled her eyes at me, raised her drink and said: ‘I give up.’

After a couple more drinks we left the pub and weaved our way slowly (painfully, in Alex’s case), southwards towards the Tower of London, and then inched along the river pushing our way through the crowds, taking turns to swig from the bottle of cheap champagne Aidan had purchased from a newsagent on the way. He and I had still barely spoken a word to each other – every time I looked at him, I could sense disapproval radiating from Alex. As surreptitiously as I could, I slipped my hand into Julian’s and pulled him back a little, so that we could walk and talk.

‘Is he really staying?’ I asked.

‘Claims to be. He reckons he’s sick of travelling all the time. Plus his mum, my aunt Sarah, is unwell, so I think he wants to be around.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be, she’s a miserable old bitch. Hates me. Whenever she speaks to my mum she asks “whether Julian’s still queer”.’ I giggled. ‘Seriously. She sent Mum a pamphlet from some insane church group that claims it can holy ghost the gayness right out of you.’

‘Christ.’

‘Exactly. Also – he didn’t say as much – but I think you might have something to do with it.’

‘To do with what?’ I asked, knowing exactly what he meant. I wanted to hear him say it.

‘To do with Aidan staying here. I’m pretty sure he wants to be with you.’

‘Doubt it. He’s barely even looked at me since he arrived.’

‘That’s because he’s nervous. And feeling guilty. And getting evils from Alex.’

It was true, actually. He did seem nervous. Which was weird – Aidan, nervous and not drinking? Perhaps the two went hand in hand. Whatever the cause, I seemed to be making it worse. Because apart from that hug when we first saw each other in the street, he’d kept his distance from me. He hadn’t been rude, or anything, it wasn’t like he was ignoring me, he just seemed to be addressing either Julian or Alex when he spoke, only really looking at me when I wasn’t looking back. I’d caught him doing it a couple of times in the pub: watching me and then looking away the second I looked up at him. And now, down at the river, he stuck to Julian’s side. It was almost as though he was afraid to be alone with me. I wasn’t sure what to think.

Inevitably, at midnight, as the fireworks went off, something had to give. Aidan took my hand and pulled me towards him, he was saying something but I couldn’t hear him, the noise of the crowd and the pyrotechnics was so loud. He slipped his hand under my chin and bent his head to kiss me; I turned my head and offered him my cheek, then turned away, freeing myself from his grasp, wrapping my arms around Julian instead. My refuge. When I looked over at Aidan again he was watching me, he smiled, but he looked hurt. I don’t know what it was he expected.

Alex, who was, as I had predicted, freezing cold and in pain because her shoes were so uncomfortable, was complaining. ‘That was crap, wasn’t it? Where was the river of fire? I couldn’t even see it. Come on, I’m freezing. I want to be in the VIP area sitting on someone’s lap. Let’s go clubbing.’ She turned to Aidan and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Catch you later, maybe,’ she said, grabbing my hand and starting off towards the tube.

‘Alex, we can’t just leave him here,’ I protested.

‘Yes we can. He’ll be fine. I’m sure he’ll find some way to amuse himself.’

‘Alex …’ I glanced over my shoulder. Julian was saying something to Aidan, Aidan was shaking his head in reply.

‘No, no, you go on,’ I heard him say.

‘Nic,’ Jules called out to me. ‘You girls go to the club. I’m going to hang on with Aidan for a bit longer.’

‘No!’ Alex and I both replied in chorus.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Alex muttered. ‘We had plans. He can’t just turn up and—’

‘Alex, be nice. Listen – you two go to Fabric. You and Julian. You’re the ones who wanted to go clubbing. I don’t even like clubbing.’ Julian looked doubtful, Alex pouted. ‘You know I don’t like clubbing, Alex.’

‘I’m think I should just get going …’ Aidan said.

‘Yes, go on. F*ck off,’ Alex said, and we all started to laugh.

In the end we decided that Julian and Alex would go clubbing, while Aidan and I would ‘hang out and catch up’. Aidan promised he’d make sure I got home safely. The four of us walked together as far as Tower Hill tube, then Julian and Alex descended into the station, while Aidan and I stood outside, just looking at each other, not sure what to say, buffeted by the crowds. After a moment or two of awkward silence, Aidan slipped his hand into mine and led me back down to the river.

‘Let’s just walk,’ he said. ‘Shall we walk?

For a while we walked in silence, hand in hand, against the mercifully thinning crowds. By the time we were level with London Bridge, a fog had descended, obscuring the remaining people. I was transported back to the beach three years ago, I had the same feeling of isolation, as though Aidan and I were all alone in the world.

‘So, which do you prefer?’ I asked him. ‘The banks of the river Thames in freezing, foggy London, or Clifton Beach in Cape Town?’

‘No question,’ he replied, ‘South Africa all the way.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, this fog is quite atmospheric, in a Gothic sort of way. You feel as though Jack the Ripper could leap out at any moment.

‘Delightful.’

‘You’re all right. You don’t look much like a hooker.’

‘Good thing Alex went clubbing, though.’

‘Oi!’ I said, giving him a playful punch on the arm. ‘But seriously, are you really sure you want to come back to England? Aren’t you going to miss all the sunshine and the adventure?’

‘The sunshine I’ll miss. The adventure, not so much.’

‘Are you okay, Aidan?’

‘I’m knackered, Nic. I’m completely and utterly exhausted. And I’ve been offered a good job – assistant director of documentaries and features at Cannon TV. I’m actually going to be earning a living wage for the first time in my life.’

‘That’s brilliant, Aidan. I’m just, well, a bit surprised, I suppose. Can’t quite picture you sitting behind a desk all day.’

He puffed out his cheeks and sighed. ‘You know what? I’m looking forward to sitting behind a desk. I’ve just … had enough, you know? Since I left Kinshasa, I’ve never drunk so much in all my life. For weeks I couldn’t sleep unless I drank enough to make myself pass out …’

‘Jesus, Aidan. I’m sorry.’ He slipped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer.

‘It was awful. I can’t explain it. I’ve been in some shitty places, but the Congo was just … soul destroying. You wouldn’t believe it, Nicole, you wouldn’t believe what’s been happening there … I mean, you should believe it, because we’re out there reporting it, but you know what it’s like. The wholesale rape and slaughter of women and children somewhere in the middle of the jungle doesn’t sit so well on the front pages as Kosovo or the euro or Y2-f*cking-K, does it? No one gives a shit.’

‘That’s not true, Aidan, it has been reported …’

‘You’ve no idea, Nic. You’ve no idea.’ He passed his hand over his eyes, shook his head, as though trying to dislodge the bad memories. ‘There are girls, little girls, ten or eleven, who’ve been gang raped by soldiers, it’s just another weapon, a cost efficient way of destroying the enemy. It makes you want to f*cking weep. Because when it’s over, when they’re done, if these women are left alive, they’re ruined. They’re just finished.’

His hands shook as he tried to light his cigarette. I placed my hands on his to steady them. He smiled and took a deep drag.

‘I’ve had enough. The whole thing has been doing my head in. And you know what? I’ve been doing this so f*cking long that I’ve started to forget that there are people, plenty of people in fact, who live their lives and do their jobs without being in constant bloody fear of getting their heads blown off. I want a life like that. I can’t explain it to you, I really can’t, how f*cking exhausting it is, just always being afraid.’

‘Aidan,’ I said, squeezing him tighter, I had no idea what to say, I’d never seen him like this, vulnerable like this, I’d never felt protective of him before.

‘Plus, I’m getting old.’

I seized the opportunity to lighten the mood.

‘That’s right, you’re in your thirties now. Bloody ancient.’

‘It’s depressing, I can tell you.’

‘I know, I’ll be twenty-three in May. That’s mid-twenties! I’ll no longer be in my early twenties! It’s horrible.’

‘Yeah, but you’re just as beautiful as you were the first time I saw you,’ he said, turning to face me, running his thumb from my cheekbone to my lips.

I pushed him away. ‘I was fourteen the first time you saw me, you pervert.’

‘But I thought you were sixteen.’

‘I still reckon that makes you a pervert.’

We walked on to Southwark Bridge, where we crossed the river. We walked on, past the Globe, past the imposing edifice of the Bankside Power Station, not quite yet the Tate Modern; we found ourselves a bench and sat down, huddled together for warmth, looking out across the river.

‘It’s not the only reason,’ Aidan said to me. ‘Those aren’t the only reasons.’

‘What aren’t the only reasons for what?’

He flicked his cigarette butt over the guard rail, watched the shower of sparks descending into the black.

‘The job, Congo, my being a knackered alkie. They aren’t the only reasons I wanted to move here.’

I could feel my pulse start to race.

‘I was thinking, you know, if you want, that maybe …’

‘Maybe?’

‘I don’t know. We could, you know, make a go of it. You and me.’

It was the most awkward romantic proposition I’d ever had. It was funny, actually: this was Aidan, the one who’d always been so smooth, and here he was coming off like a thirteen-year-old boy. I smiled at him.

‘I don’t know, Aidan, I’m not sure—’

‘I want to be with you, Nic. I think about you all the time. I’ve missed you.’

And there he was, all smooth again. It was strange, this was exactly what I’d wanted to hear, and yet the moment he said it, it sounded like a line. Like a lie. I pulled away from him a little, sat up straight.

‘You wouldn’t have known it, from all the times you called me.’

‘I’m sorry, Nic, you know what I’m like. When I’m working … I just get caught up in stuff.’

‘That’s not an excuse, Aidan.’ I felt pissed off with him all of a sudden, I could see myself, see us, through Alex’s eyes and I didn’t like it. ‘I was really messed up after last time. This thing you do, dropping in and out of my life whenever you feel like it – it messes with my head.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry, but it won’t be like that any more, I promise you …’

‘Don’t make promises. And don’t move back here to be with me, because I’m not even sure that’s what I want. I can’t count on you. I can never rely on you. All you ever do is let me down.’

I got to my feet and started walking away.

‘Where are you going?’ he called after me.

‘Blackfriars. I’m going to get the tube home.’

He walked behind me all the way, and followed me down into the bowels of the underground. He sat next to me in the tube carriage, holding my hand, not saying anything. I didn’t have the strength to tell him to let me go. I didn’t want to. We walked back to the flat in silence; the rooms were in darkness, Julian and Alex were still out. It was just after three. We didn’t turn on the lights, we undressed each other as we moved through the flat, from hallway to living room to hallway to bedroom.

* * *

I woke just after seven, slipped out of bed, moving silently through the house, picking up our clothes as I went. Alex and Julian’s bedroom doors were both closed. I hadn’t heard them come in. I put on the kettle and made two cups of coffee, white for me, black and sweet for Aidan.

I went back to the bedroom, nudged Aidan awake with my knee, handed him his coffee and gave him his marching orders.

‘You need to go,’ I told him. ‘I don’t want you here when Alex gets up. She’s just going to give me a hard time.’

‘It’s none of her business, Nic,’ he protested sleepily, slipping his hand under the oversized Cure T-shirt I was wearing. One of Julian’s cast-offs.

‘Well, I want you to go anyway. I need to think about things and I can’t think straight when you’re in the room. Never have been able to.’

He grinned at me, lazy, lascivious, infuriating. Irresistible. An hour later, I walked him downstairs to his bike and kissed him goodbye. The street was deserted; no one else yet out of bed on the first day of the new year (not the new millennium). We were alone again.

‘I’ll ring you later,’ he said to me as he swung one long leg over the bike.

‘Don’t,’ I said, enjoying for the first time the feeling that I had some power, some control over the relationship. He was staying, I didn’t need to panic, I could call the shots. He reached out, placed his hand on the back of my neck and gently pulled me towards him. He kissed me, long and deep.

‘I love you, Nic,’ he said. ‘I mean it, I’m in love with you.’

My heart stopped. He smiled, pulled on his helmet and rode off down the road. That feeling of control hadn’t lasted long.

Back upstairs I went into the kitchen to make myself another cup of coffee. I couldn’t get to the kettle, however, because there was a naked man standing in front of it, his back to me.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘Oh, hello,’ he replied, turning to face me. He was holding a tea towel with a picture of the Queen’s head on it in front of him. A Sex Pistols tea towel. Julian had found it somewhere. ‘I’m Karl,’ he said. A German accent.

‘Nicole,’ I replied.

‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’ He didn’t appear to be in the slightest bit embarrassed about his nudity. A Germanic thing, perhaps.

‘You were at Fabric last night, then?’

‘That’s right. It was a lot of fun.’ He was handsome, in good shape, with a tattoo on his washboard stomach that was partially obscured by the Queen’s face. I couldn’t, on such a cursory inspection, figure out whether he was with Alex or Julian, and didn’t want to offend him by asking. The kettle began to whistle.

‘Would you like some coffee?’ he asked me, turning once more to display his perfect backside.

‘I’m all right, actually.’ I couldn’t quite bring myself to force him to put down that tea towel. ‘I think I’ll just get myself some juice.’

I went back to bed. When I woke again, the sun was streaming in through the window, the sky an icy blue. I pulled on the Cure T-shirt and some trackie bottoms and poked my head around the door. I could hear muffled laughter coming from Alex’s room. I crept up to the door, listened for a second. I could hear Alex’s voice, and Julian’s. No one else’s. I pushed the door open; the two of them were lying on the bed, Alex up against the headboard, Julian with his head resting on her tummy.

‘There you are at last!’ Jules said as I stuck my head around the door.

‘I was too scared to come out of my room in case I ran into any more naked men,’ I replied. ‘Which one of you was responsible for him?’ Then, in a lower voice I asked, ‘Shit, he’s not still here is he?’

‘No he is not,’ Julian replied, ‘and oh my god you need to get your gaydar seen to.’

‘Yours then?’

‘Of course. I thought you saw him naked? Straight boys don’t have bodies like that. Straight boys don’t have piercings like that.’

‘I didn’t noticing a piercing,’ I said.

‘Well, you probably didn’t see him quite as close up as I did,’ Julian replied archly.

I blushed. ‘It was probably obscured by Her Royal Highness.’

‘A queen hiding behind the Queen,’ Julian remarked. ‘How apt.’

‘Well, he was very pretty.’

‘Wasn’t he?’

‘And you, miss?’ I said, turning to Alex. ‘How did you fare?’

‘Well, I got three numbers – one from a professional rugby player – but came home alone because I have some dignity and self-respect and am not a total slut like the pair of you.’

‘I am not …’ I started to protest, but they both started laughing.

‘Oh, we saw your underwear strewn all over the place last night,’ Julian said. ‘Strumpet.’

‘Where is he anyway?’ Alex asked. ‘Waiting for breakfast in bed?’

‘I kicked him out first thing, actually,’ I replied, giving Alex a triumphant look. ‘Without so much as a bacon sandwich. Told him I needed time to think about things. Told him—’

But Alex was no longer listening. ‘Bacon sandwich!’ she exclaimed, shoving Julian off her and jumping to her feet. ‘Please, please, please tell me we have bacon.’