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“Are you alright?” he asks, as I give another loud sniff.

“Yep.” I take a bite. “Very alright, super alright actually. Very very very ok.”

I am internally aware that those are not words that someone who is actually ok would be saying.

“He wasn’t right for me anyway, but my parents liked him. They really liked him. And I just wanted something to be easy for once.”

I finish my toast in silence, and he hands me the second slice.

“Tom,” someone shouts from the living room. “You’ve got to hear this.”

“One minute,” he calls back.

He’s watching me closely, and I hate the hint of pity I see in his eyes.

“You should go,” I tell him. “I’m ruining the vibes in the kitchen. Hang out with the fun people and their fun vibes.”

The guy shouts Tom’s name again and he frowns.

“Eat the toast,” he tells me.

I watch him leave and sag further back into the counter. I finish the bread and then shake my head. No more pity parties for me. I’m Claire Robinson. Tom’s right. I’m fun and confident and have great taste in clothes. Well he might not have said all that. But he would definitely approve of my new mantra. No boy is going to make me feel small again.

I will myself to believe those words.

Flicking my hair back over my shoulder, I wiggle my ankle to check the straps on my heels are tight enough, and stride back into the room.

***

I’m having fun, but in the half hour since I had my snack, I’ve started feeling dizzy again. Potentially because I unfortunately consumed another glass of wine.

I’m at the front door, hunting through my handbag to try and find my phone charger, desperate to resurrect my dying iPhone, when Tom reappears along with Kath. My phone takes its last breath in my hand, and I let out a frustrated huff as the screen goes dark. Today is not my day. At least night buses exist. I know the schedule… ish.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright, Claire?” Kath looks worried. I nod, and then shake my phone as though that will rejuvenate the battery. Shockingly it doesn’t. “We have a spare room if you need it?”

“Don’t worry,” Tom tells his sister. “I can go with her. She only lives a few streets over from me, and I’m driving my car back anyway.”

I open my mouth to make a joke about the last time he took me home from a party, but close it again. I shouldn’t be joking about The Kiss.

“I don’t need your help getting home.”

My words are ruined by my inability to button my jacket. Kath takes over and Tom gives me a look.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he says. “It’s easy for me, and cost-efficient for you.”

I swallow my retort. He’s right, this is easier.

“Thanks for having me.” He gives Kath a hug. “And say thanks to Sam too.”

“Make sure she gets home ok,” I hear Kath say to Tom. “I can come over and spend the night if she needs me. Just call me and let me know.”

Kath lets us out the front door and the chill of the air is a blessed relief on my flushed cheeks. The evening breeze makes my head stop pounding as much, though the respite is ruined by having to get into the car.

Tom and I sit in silence, though he drums his fingers on the steering wheel at every red light. I gaze out the window watching London at night. I love it. The streets are so quiet, and the streetlights are lit, framing the trees. Though I hate that part of me is still hyperaware of him beside me, every movement, every sigh.

He parks on my street. “I’ll just make sure you get in safely.”

I let out another huff. Why is he always so nice to me? However, my annoyance is ruined by a) my inability to stomp up the front steps in heels without wobbling and b) my failure to find my keys within my bag. Everything’s spinning again. And not in a good way.