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‘I just moved back in with my parents, and it’s a bit like moving in with the mafia,’ I say, feeling relaxed enough to crack jokes.

‘I can appreciate that. My mum can be a handful,’ he says. ‘And my dad left us when I was younger.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I tell him sincerely.

‘It’s okay. It was a long time ago,’ he replies. ‘A real man makes his own family.’

I snort.

‘Is that a sort of Titanic reference?’ I check.

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. I exhale deeply, feeling more at ease.

‘How was your vile-looking blue drink?’ he asks curiously.

‘It was nice,’ I reply. ‘Like a trip down memory lane. I only had a few sips, but I think my tongue might be blue.’

‘Let’s see,’ he says, leaning in closer.

I poke out my tongue, leaning in too. He looks at it and smiles, then he looks me in the eye.

Slowly, I put my tongue back in my mouth. Are we having a moment right now?

I leave my lips parted slightly, sort of hopefully. He starts to lean in, and just when we’re about to kiss, the door bursts open.

‘Oh my God, there you are!’ Mel says. She gives Eric a slap on the arm. ‘You need to get this door fixed. If I hadn’t wondered where Lia was, she could have been stuck in here all night.’

A few seconds ago, I don’t think I would have minded.

As Eric begins to apologise to Mr L, Mel hooks her arm with mine, dragging me off. ‘Eric owes us champagne for this, and we’re going to sit in the private room, just us girls. It’s the least he can do,’ she tells me.

I go with her but secretly I just want to spend more time with Mr L. And now I’m kicking myself because why on earth didn’t I ask him his name? I feel so weird, calling him Mr L, even if it’s only in my head. Ah well, I’ll just have to find him later and ask. Suddenly, living back home doesn’t seem so bad.

6

Waking up suddenly, I sit up straight in my bed. I must have been having one hell of a bad dream to wake up with such a start. I also have a horrible headache, right across my forehead – I didn’t think I’d drunk nearly enough Kapops to land myself a hangover. Perhaps they don’t pair well with prosecco, and however many bottles of champagne Eric gave me to apologise for locking me in the loos.

Dreary autumn light filters weakly through the gap in my curtains, and my room feels properly chilly now.

My eyes. Something is wrong with… Oh, no, wait, nothing is wrong with my eyes. I’m wearing an eye mask, because of course I am.

I don’t even know if it’s morning yet. I suppose if it was, my mum would have woken me up by now. Either way, I think I’ll go back to sleep while I can.

The second my head touches the pillow I feel a sharp pain in my forehead, followed by a very quiet but very real giggle.

‘Is that…’ I sit up, pulling my eye mask from my face. ‘Rory!’

‘Good morning, sis. Good night last night, was it?’

In my older brother’s hand is the basket full of multi-coloured glass pebbles that have sat on my dressing table since, oh, I don’t know, the start of the new millennium.

Before I have a chance to reply he throws another one at me, hitting me right in the middle of the forehead again.

‘You moron, I have such a headache,’ I snap at him, right as my mum pops her head inside my bedroom door.

‘Lia Helen Porter, you promised me you wouldn’t have a hangover this morning.’

‘But Mum, I⁠—’