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‘Told me what?’

‘That you should play.’

Ashley rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, it was fine. But you didn’t leave me much choice.’

‘I had to intervene,’ Molly said. ‘Otherwise, I was going to wet my jeans.’

Nice image to give her. Dark wet patch on crotch. Hot.

Ashley snorted. ‘Thanks.’

‘For what?’

‘Stopping the breakdown.’

Deacon walked over. He lived in the room across the landing from Molly. They weren’t proper friends, just warm acquaintances who shared milk and exchanged nods over the kettle. He busked classical pop covers on the Northern Line platform for a living.

He looked at Ashley, then at Molly, then back.

‘She wants to ask you out,’ Deacon said. His voice was completely flat.

Molly stared at him. ‘Shut up, Deacon.’

Ashley looked between them, holding her guitar case by the handle.

Nobody spoke. It was very quiet for five seconds.

‘Right,’ Ashley said.

‘Right,’ Molly said.

Deacon scratched his chin through his beard. ‘This is painful. Ask her out, you numpty.’

Molly looked down at the sticky carpet. ‘Jesus Christ, why are you doing this to me?’

‘You’re taking too long,’ Deacon said. ‘I’d have a go myself, but you two had a moment. I’m respecting the moment. Now ask her.’

Ashley blinked once.

‘I’ll see you at home, Deacon,’ Molly said.

‘I’m going.’ Deacon said. ‘If neither of you gets a number, you’re both thick.’

He turned and shuffled off into the crowd before either of them could say anything else.

Ashley looked at her trainers. Molly looked at a flyer on the wall.

‘He’s not usually like that,’ Molly said.

‘No?’ Ashley said.

‘Actually, I don’t know him all that well,’ Molly said. ‘He might be.’

Ashley let out a short breath. She looked toward the exit, then back. ‘Do you want a drink? Somewhere else?’

Molly looked at her. ‘Yeah. But I only drink champagne.’

‘Do you?’