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she’s standing more on her own feet. Her eyes are wide, but glazed-over slightly, and her smile is wide and expectant. ‘Where’s Jules and Ellie?’ I ask.
    â€˜Oh, they’re inside. They were in the loos.’ Her words are slurred, and when she says ‘loos’ it comes out more like ‘loooooooos.’
    â€˜So they’re staying with you?’
    â€˜Uh-huuuuuuh.’
    â€˜I think we were just about to head somewhere else,’ Sean pitches in, stepping out from the wall to get Cathy’s attention. His eyes flicker back to me. ‘Unless you’d rather stay here with your mates?’
    â€˜Wait,’ Cathy says, sounding a little more sober now. Her eyes narrow at Sean. ‘Don’t I know you?’
    â€˜Um, I don’t know.’
    She squints at him more, then squeals. ‘Ooh! Ooh, I know how I know you! Aren’t you like, treasurer or something for the French society?’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s me.’
    Cathy’s mouth opens slightly as if she’s about to say something to me, but then she looks back at Sean, and her eyes widen even further. Her mouth slides very slowly back shut. ‘Right. Okay.’ She hiccups. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
    My best friend skips back inside the club, shooting me a grin over her shoulder, and winking. I want to turn to dust and blow away in the wind, I’m so embarrassed.
    Sean doesn’t seem to notice. He just smiles easily at me, and says, ‘Your friend?’
    â€˜Best friend. And she kind of acts like mum in our house. Fixing holes in pockets and making sure we’ve got enough dish-washer tablets and paracetamol in the cupboards, you know.’
    Sean laughs. ‘In that case, I’m probably house-mum. I’m always doing stuff like that.’
    I smile, and then, because it looks like we’re going somewhere together – and not back into the club – I say, ‘So, where are we going?’
    We end up in McDonalds.
    Hardly glamorous, I know, but it’s not like there are any coffee shops open right now, and most of the pubs are rowdy and near closing. So we’re sitting in the too-bright light of McDonalds, opposite each other at a table near the window, with fries and cups of tea between us.
    And I can’t think of a single thing to say to him. I know this isn’t a date, but still…
    â€˜You’re not wearing that necklace,’ he says, filling the silence.
    â€˜You’re not wearing your glasses,’ I respond.
    â€˜Contacts. They’re easier on a night out. Did you get rid of it? The necklace, I mean.’
    I touch a hand to my naked throat. ‘No. It’s buried in my jewellery box.’
    â€˜Well, that’s better than still wearing it.’ He smiles.
    â€˜I’m still not really over him.’
    I’m such an idiot! Was that a good thing to say? Is he going to run a mile now because he thinks I’m one of those girls who obsesses over an ex-boyfriend?
    But hey – he brought it up.
    I bite my lip, looking away from him out of the window. I hope I’m not blushing. And I hope he doesn’t think I’m as big an idiot as I feel.
    â€˜Um, so,’ he says, ‘What do you do? Is Starbucks the future for you? I feel really weird, because we’ve met a few times, but I still don’t actually know much about you.’
    Glad of the change of topic, I turn back to him, wrapping my hands around my cup of tea. ‘Okay, well, I dropped out of Sixth Form after barely passing my AS Levels, worked in Tesco and a pub for a bit. Now I’m doing some college courses in psychology. What about you?’
    â€˜Fourth year French,’ he answers. ‘I spent my third year abroad. Probably going to go into teaching.’
    â€˜So you know what you want to do with your life.’
    â€˜Kind of. At least, I’d like to get the