Page 79 of When We Were Young

She takes a big glug of her drink. ‘Two.’

‘Did you love him?’

‘I still do.’

It’s only when I stand up to go to the loo after dinner that I realise my legs aren’t working and all the furniture is trying to stop me reaching the bathroom.

‘This is the man I’m meeting on Friday,’ she says when I return.

She hands me her phone: he’s very hairy and built like a rugby player.

‘Ooh. What’s his name?’

‘Irvine.’

‘He looks… nice.’

I flick through the screenshots she’s taken of his profile while she gets us another drink. When she sits down, I hand back her phone.

‘I saw Dylan’s friend on Tinder yesterday,’ she says.

‘FHD?’

‘What?’

I’m not surprised he’s on Tinder but I’m curious to see his profile. ‘Show me.’

She takes a few minutes to find the screenshots. I drink almost the entire cocktail while I’m waiting. Damn, these things are easy to drink.

‘Will Harding, thirty-seven. That’s him, no?’

‘Yes, that’s him.’ I scoot closer.

FHD is tanned and happy eating seafood with palm trees behind him. In the next picture, he’s standing on a paddle board out in the middle of a flat, glassy ocean wearing low-slung board shorts.

‘He has a six-pack,’ observes Magda.

The next shows him paddle boarding along a tree-lined river wearing a wetsuit.

‘Too many clothes,’ she says and swipes to the last photo.

FHD is among a group of friends. They all have their glasses raised, and he’s cracking up about something.

He’s normal; he has friends; he has a six-pack.

But he’s on a dating app. He could be on a date right now. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.

My tongue’s made of leather. Not smooth leather, but more like suede. It’s like the tongue of a shoe.

My eyelids are stuck together. I go to rub my eyes, but my arms are tied to my body.Shit. Where am I? Who tied me up? I squirm and writhe around until I free my arms from their bonds. I rub my eyes, creating just enough moisture for lids to slide over my arid eyeballs.

It’s bright. I sit up – I’m on a sofa. There’s a blanket over me. Whose sofa is this? I need water.

Behind me is a kitchenette. I go to the sink, turn on the tap, and scoop handfuls of water into my mouth. The moisture doesn’t penetrate the rough suede of my tongue. I open the cupboard above my head and find a mug. I fill it with water, drain it in long gulps, and gasp to catch my breath.

This is Magda’s flat.

I drank a lot of vodka.