'Yes.'

'Were you?'

'Yes.'

'I called your landline and let it ring for a minute to say goodnight and check you got in OK. Thought you'd appreciate the gesture. You never answered.'

Simon's nostrils flare, he's triumphant.

'Oh my G.o.d, what is this?' I splutter. 'The only reason I mentioned Jonathan was because he's the showy lawyer everyone fancies. It was a coincidence. We talked about loads of people from work that night. And the only reason I remember mentioning him at all is because you went funny. And I said I was home because I was nearly at my block of flats. I hadn't got the lift and literally put my key in the door and I had no idea you'd care either way.'

'Billy Bulls.h.i.t. I thought you had some kind of ulterior motive in getting involved with me and, again, I ignored my instincts. Good to see you prove that you can tell a barefaced lie when it's expedient, though.'

I make a 'I give up' gesture. 'I don't know what you want from me or what I can say.'

My righteous exasperation is entirely play-acting. If Natalie and Jonathan figure out I was there when he sent that text she never received, this is all over. Job, home, professional respect ... friendship with Ben. And it'd remove the very small margin of doubt that's stopping Simon tearing me limb from limb. I'm practically shaking.

'What I want is the truth about what you've done, but that's too much to ask from you, isn't it?'

I make a silent pact that at some point I'm going to tell Ben, at least, the truth about this.

'I swear I had nothing to do with Zoe selling this story.'

'Nothing to do with her selling it, or nothing to do with it?'

Lawyers. I hesitate.

'Nothing to do with it whatsoever.'

'Alright, she's answered you,' Ben says. 'Let's call a truce and get back to the office.'

'Stay out of this,' he barks, rudely.

'No,' Ben says, and I watch two men fighting over me in a way that's considerably less enjoyable than it's made to appear onscreen. 'Stop using her as a punch bag. It's not her fault this woman and Jon got involved, and it's not her fault someone's written about it.'

'What is it with you two?' Simon says, looking from Ben to me, feigning amazement. 'Did she keep the negatives after you broke up, or what?'

Ben ignores this. 'I know Rachel well enough to know she wouldn't st.i.tch you up. If she'd turned you over and didn't give a s.h.i.t she wouldn't be here right now, would she?'

'Maybe it's for your benefit?' Simon says, with a very unpleasant curl of the lip.

'When she didn't know I'd be here?' Ben says. Thank you, Ben. 'When you've calmed down you might realise she doesn't deserve this much abuse.'

The attack-dog glint in Simon's eyes finally starts to fade. I allow myself to breathe and Simon senses this, drawing himself up to his full height and going in for the kill.

'You're a liar. A despicable, miserable, weak little liar who's sold everyone out and doesn't even have the guts to admit it.'

'Jesus, enough!' Ben cries.

Unperturbed, Simon continues: 'I'd think more of you if you stood here and said you'd done it and you didn't care. If I ever see you again it will be a lifetime too soon.'

My shoulders drop, and I know now I couldn't make many intelligible noises even if I wanted to. I fight the liquid back from my eyes, concentrate on keeping my breathing steady, clench my jaw.

'OK,' Ben says, possibly seeing this imminent loss of control and stepping between us. 'Enough, Simon.'

When he's satisfied Simon's verbal onslaught is at an end, he steps out of the way again.

'Come on.' He puts a hand on Simon's arm. 'Let's go.'

Simon shakes him off.

I make a last attempt to steady my voice and gasp out: 'Tell me if there's anything I can do to help put this right ...'

'Are you joking?' Simon spits. 'Because it's about as funny as being told the cancer's spread to the bones.'

'No.'

'You're actually trying to make more for yourself out of this?'

'That's not what I-'

Simon looks towards Ben. 'Whatever she's got on you, I'd cut her loose.'

He strides off. I definitely can't speak. I blink at Ben. He stares back.

'He's taken this very personally,' Ben says. 'As you might've picked up.'

'Ben, this has been a total nightmare, I never meant ...' I try to swallow what's rising up. My next attempt at speech breaks into speaking-sobbing; it could also be described as a kind of adenoidal howling. 'I never knew this was going to happen. I worked with Zoe and she was my friend, I never thought she'd do something like this ...'

Ben glances left and right, as if we're in the middle of a drugs deal, and to my total surprise gathers me into a hug. As unexpected as it is, it's also incredibly welcome, not least as it stops St Ann's Square's curious population staring at me. Foremost among them are egg and cress couple, who think they've stumbled on some modern guerilla street theatre, a kind of am-dram 'pop up'. And I'd rather Ben hugged me than looked at me, too; I'm not doing soft-focus Julia-Roberts-esque 'startled nymph' crying.

'I know you didn't mean this to happen,' he says, shushing me.

'You're the only one who does,' I say snottily, into the thick material of his coat.

'Don't take Simon's biblical fury too seriously. He's had a torrid weekend. Journalists called Natalie on Sat.u.r.day to see if she wanted to "put her side of it" and she completely lost it, rang Simon screaming and crying, a neighbour had to take the kids ...'

Bridie, I think. It would've been nice hippy-dippy Bridie with the runaway cat. I feel like utter s.h.i.t.

'Did he call you?' I ask, looking up. I don't know why I want to know.

'He did, actually. I a.s.sured him you wouldn't have had anything to do with it. I was forbidden to call you. I thought it was easier if we didn't talk so he couldn't catch us out on it. He doesn't need more fuel for his conspiracy theories. How bad's it been at work?'

'As bad as it can be without being sacked.'

I wipe at my face with my coat sleeve and my head drops onto Ben's shoulder again. He puts his hand on the back of my head.

'Hush, come on, it'll be forgotten soon enough ...'

He moves his hand a fraction and I think he's moving it away. No. Wait. He's stroking my hair? I go tense, hold my breath. Perhaps he feels this as, simultaneously, we break apart.

'Sorry, sorry, I'm such a mess,' I mumble, scouring at my running mascara again with the hem of my sleeve.

'I'm sorry, Rachel. Here I was thinking I was being helpful putting you and Simon in touch,' Ben says, a notch louder than necessary, returning us to more formality.

'You were!' I protest. 'I'm the one who should apologise.'

'I'd suggest a stiff drink,' Ben says. 'But I don't think being seen going to the pub with you today would be erm politically astute. You understand?'

I nod, manage a weak smile.

'Tomorrow's chip paper. Today's, in fact. It's at the bottom of litter trays already. Chin up.'

I nod again.

'You were let down by someone you trusted. Happens to us all,' he says.

52.

We weren't yet graduates, but the small matter of the graduation ball loomed. The Chem Soc one in the faded grandeur of the Palace Hotel had emerged as the front-runner and we'd bought tickets en ma.s.se. Taking a date, if you had one, seemed more important than usual and, after his effusive words at my twenty-first, I'd asked Rhys to come.

His hired penguin suit was hanging on my wardrobe door in its polythene dry cleaner's shroud, next to my bell-skirted prom dress. I'd reminded him constantly as the ball drew nearer. Nevertheless, the call I'd somehow expected came the day before. I was in splendid isolation, Caroline and Mindy each having gone home to drop off the first wave of their possessions, Ivor back in halls for his third year, Derek thankfully apparently attending to sociopathic business elsewhere.

'Rach. That thing, the party-'

'My graduation ball?'

'Yeah. I can't go. We've got a gig and I've got to do it.'

'Rhys!' I cried. 'When was that booked?'

'Sorry, babe. It's a last-minute thing. I can't duck out, Drugs Ed would have my b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.'

I'd lost a compet.i.tion with Drugs Ed. Unless it was a compet.i.tion to see who could take the most drugs, this was a poor state of affairs.

'This is really important to me. You promised!'

'Ah come on, there'll be other parties.'

His insistence on dismissing it as a 'party' riled me. This was a landmark, the last hurrah of studenthood, when I said goodbye to Manchester and the life and friends I'd made here.

In truth, things had already been slipping, slightly. Ben's words at my twenty-first had played on my mind too. Doubt had crept in and been allowed to stay. Rhys's eagerness to run my life started to feel less like support, more like control. His superior knowledge on every subject had become less impressive and more supercilious. His avowed loathing of 'student n.o.b heads' increasingly kept him at home at weekends, though I'd pointed out he was coming to Manchester for my company, not the entire undergraduate population's.

When I went to Sheffield instead, I landed among his band mates in the same old pub, wondering why I'd not noticed before that they never took an interest in anything I had to say. And as wonderful as the twenty-first speech was, something about it had niggled me. I'd eventually identified it as the 'greatest girlfriend' terminology. He liked to tell me his make of shoes and guitar were the greatest in the world too. I was a treasured Rhys possession, evidence of his taste, with about as much of a valued opinion as the Chucks and the Les Paul. Rhys had a.s.sumed, without me ever recollecting making a decision, we were moving in together after I left university. Life is about decisions, I thought. Mine were being made for me.

I'd known Rhys would pull out of the ball because the only reason to do it was to please me. There was no stake in it now: I was coming home, coming back to him. It was a time of endings and new beginnings. I'd started to think treacherous, revolutionary thoughts.

'Do you know how much trouble I've gone to? I spent a bomb at Moss Bros.'

'I'll pay you back.'

'It's not about the money, is it?'

'What is it about then?'

'I want you there.'

'Yeah, well. I want doesn't always get, Princess Rachel.'

'Great, thanks. This should come before the band. There'll be other gigs, I only get one grad ball.'

'Oh, come on. There's more to life than your little world, you know. It's not as if you'd notice whether I was there or not, after the first half hour of Nasty Spew-mantes.'

'Why do you always make anything that matters to me sound stupid?'

'I might've known I couldn't get out of this without a huge barney.'

'Get out of this?'

Rhys sighed. 'Anyway. When you're back I've got a flat for us to go and see in Crookes.'

'I never said I wanted to get a flat together.'

'Eh? Didn't you?'

'You never asked. You take me for granted. I feel like I'm a junior partner, or an apprentice. Not an equal.'

'Well, act more mature and then I'll treat you that way, babe.'

I seethed. I boiled. I said: 'Do you know what, Rhys? I think it's best if we say we've run our course.'

A bewildered silence.

'You're binning me because I won't come to this party?'

'It's not a b.l.o.o.d.y party, it's my graduation ball. I'm "binning" you because I'm not a teenager any more and I'm not going to be steamrollered.'

'You really want to finish?'

'Yes.'