I get there before everyone else. He makes me lasagne with potatoes and peas. And then he brings me ice cream. The Simpsons. Thom and I lounged around on the sofa. Not a hint of awkwardness.

And then it’s everyone getting there. Too awkward; out of seven I only know one person. I sit in the back of the car, and one of the two T(h)oms drives to Asda. We buy cheap alcohol. I hide behind a paper stand. No interfering cashier - I can’t serve the others if you have no ID. This time I hide. Sit in the back of the car on the way back, and listen to the two T(h)oms discuss girls.

Why do the sixteen year olds all like me?

Because you have a car, man. It’s cool.

I establish myself on a sofa with my bottle of cheap wine.

Watch the others play PS2 games.

Drink.

Steadily I get more and more drunk. I ask what is going on with the game, share a lollipop, share smiles. Go to the toilet five million times, lament my going early.

The guys play shooting games. The girl on my sofa offers mead. I like the sound of mead. Honey…yeah, go ahead. Hands creep around my waist. I now feel vaguely ashamed that someone felt the need to put an arm around me. I don’t need looking after!

I catch a taxi home early to pacify Mami, and here I am. Tomorrow I am dying my hair. My head feels heavy, like a pumpkin stuck on a weedy twig. I need water.

I am drunk.

And Thom says it makes him sad, the fact that I only cuddle up when I am drunk. The fact that it wasn’t a cuddle, but rather a drunken arms-around makes no difference, both is sad-making.

And we have just had The Discussion. Online. I need to know where I stand, please tell me, I need to move on.

Fuck.

This is so terribly hard, to say it like this, just friends, and I like him so much, but I know I can’t jump at every chance.

Life is making sacrifices. I am starting to learn that.

Your confusion ain’t nothing on mine, he said.

Perhaps not. But I’m pretty damn confused, anyway.