‘I’m sorry!’ he chuckles. ‘Really sorry.’

My colour increases as I scan my room for the nearest thing to save my dignity, settling on a T-shirt draped over the back of my chair in the corner. I dart over and make quick work of throwing it on, feeling better instantly, like I’ve regained some self-respect after throwing myself at my best friend. Gregory isn’t so concerned by his state of undress, though, and is currently rolling around laughing, tangled among the blankets of my bed. It makes me smile more, my head cocking in admiration, musing at his tight backside, but more at his hysterical, carefree state.

‘Come on,’ he says, pushing himself up and patting the mattress next to him. ‘I won’t grope you, promise.’

I roll my eyes and join him on the bed, resting my back against the headboard next to him. I fiddle with my ring, wondering what on earth to say. I really don’t know, so I say the only thing that I should – the only thing I’m concerned about. ‘This won’t change things, will it?’ I ask. ‘I can’t be without you, Greg. I don’t want what happened to change us.’

‘Aaah, baby girl.’ He drapes his arm around my shoulders and cuddles me close. ‘Never, because we won’t let it. I guess that twenty per cent got the better of me.’

I smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘No, thank you,’ he sighs. ‘Let’s make a pact.’

‘A pact.’ I frown. ‘What kind of pact?’ I’m suddenly concerned that Gregory is about to propose an arrangement that says we marry each other if we haven’t found our soulmate by the time we’re thirty.

‘We stay strong,’ he whispers, ‘for each other.’

I look up and see a face pleading with me to help him.

‘I’m struggling, too, Livy.’

I feel terrible. ‘I’m sorry.’ I’ve been so consumed in my own misery, I’ve not stopped to truly consider my best friend’s turmoil, not seen the extent of his own unhappiness. I’ve been blindsided by my own pitiful state. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘We can do it together,’ he continues. ‘I’ll help you and you can help me.’

‘Does that mean confiscating your phone?’ I tease.

‘No, but it does mean you can delete his number.’ He grabs his mobile and shoves it in my hand. ‘Go on.’

I scroll through his contact list, deleting Ben’s number before going to his text messages – sent and received – and deleting any traces of Ben from there, too. Happy I’ve extinguished him from Gregory’s mobile altogether, and hopefully his life, too, I hand it back and watch as my friend raises expectant eyebrows at me. He wants to return the favour.

‘I told you, my phone’s broken.’

‘And you’ve not replaced it?’

‘No,’ I reply, sounding rather proud and feeling it as well. I won’t be charging the phone William bought me, or any other phone, in fact. Unobtainable. Anyway, I want Gregory to be able to delete Miller Hart from my brain, not just any phone I might be using.

‘So we’re both free of cocksuckers.’

‘Cocksucker is reserved for’ – I pause for a moment – ‘you know who.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’ I wince immediately, and Gregory frowns, clearly wondering what the problem is. I shake my head and settle back into his side, feeling a little better, despite the strangeness of the past half-hour and despite familiar words falling from both of our mouths without thought or awareness.

Chapter Six

Gregory and I aren’t doing a very good job of helping each other through our turmoil. The next evening, and in an attempt to move on with our lives, we’ve had a quiet Italian meal together, which was lovely, but the wine has taken hold and we’re now falling towards the doors of Ice, both giggling, both staggering a little. My drunken mind has become vengeful and is stamping all over the fact that Miller is away and he will likely watch all of the CCTV footage from the club when he returns. And I’m going to give him something interesting to view.

‘How do you know he’s away?’ Gregory asks, taking us to the back of the line, since this time we lack an invite or our names on the guest list.

‘Text before my phone broke.’ I can’t tell him about William.

‘How did it break?’

‘Dropped it.’ I distract Gregory from the reason for the premature demise of my mobile phone by flashing my membership card to Ice.

He grins and takes it from my hand, giving it a quick inspection. ‘Not much to it, is there?’

I shrug and snatch it back as we near the front. I get a look from the doorman, but he doesn’t refuse me entry when I flash my card. He does, however, call Tony to notify him of my arrival. But I’m feeling brash and brave, probably assisted by the three glasses of wine that I drank throughout dinner. Neither one of us is guilty of forcing the other to Miller’s club. We just ended up here after I mentioned my membership card and free entry, and neither of us protested – me, because I’m feeling cruel and this is the only way I know how to hurt him, and Gregory because I know he’s silently hoping Ben will be here tonight. How long will we continue to torment ourselves?

Calvin Harris’s ‘Feel So Close’ greets us as we enter and we find our way to the bar, ordering champagne automatically once we’re there, which is daft. What are we celebrating? Being complete idiots? I ignore the strawberry in my flute and sip while gazing around the bar, expecting Tony to appear from somewhere, but after a few minutes of scanning the club, no Tony.

Gregory doesn’t tell me to take it easy, probably because he’s hell-bent on dulling down his own hurt with alcohol. This is a dangerous position for us both to be in, for the combination of alcohol and our determination to heal our broken hearts is sure to land us in trouble. I can see cameras everywhere. I can also see men watching me, my eyes like a hawk’s trying to attract the attention that I’m usually so uncomfortable receiving. I take a deep breath, push all thoughts of disgrace to the very back of my mind, and lose myself in the crowd of London’s elite. I shy away from nothing. I accept drinks, I talk with confidence, and I let men rest their hands on my waist or lower back when they get close to talk over the loud music. My cheek is kissed by countless men, and Gregory, although watchful and a little wary, smiles each time.

He moves in when I step away from a tall preppy-type. ‘You look comfortable. What’s changed?’

‘Miller Hart,’ I say nonchalantly before finishing off my champagne. Gregory hands me another and we make the most of our time alone, taking a few moments to drink in our surroundings. Heads are thrown back in laughter and continental-style kisses are exchanged everywhere. In reality, Gregory and I really don’t fit in among these social elitists.

But Ben does.

And he’s here.

I know what I should be doing. I should be dragging Gregory away, but just as I convince my alcohol-drenched brain to do exactly that, Ben spots us and starts making his way over.

Shit, I curse to myself, weighing up my options. My drunken mind isn’t allowing me to think quickly enough, so before I can haul my friend away, Ben is standing in front of us and Gregory is shifting awkwardly on the spot. I still feel mad, especially when Ben glances at me with high eyebrows. I gather breath to hit him with another torrent of abuse, but he beats me to it and launches into an apology speech. My mouth snaps shut as I flick my eyes from Ben to Greg, back and forth, wondering how this is going to play out.