‘What are you doing?’ I ask Henry, as soon as I walk into the living room. Or try to. I can’t actually get in because the sofa’s been pushed backwards and it’s blocking the doorway.

‘Oh hey!’ He looks up at me and smiles. His cheeks are pink and his fringe is sticking to his forehead sweatily. ‘You’re back early. What happened to the party?’

‘Nothing. It was fine,’ I say. ‘Seriously. What are you doing?’

Along with the shifted sofa, the coffee table and armchair have been moved to the other side of the room. In the space between lie a bunch of instructions and a quite ridiculous number of piles of screws and nails. They all look very well ordered though, in neat groups.

‘Well, this was meant to be a surprise,’ Henry says. ‘But you’ve ruined it.’

He pushes his hand back through his hair and it sticks up in tufts for a second before settling back down.

‘I’m making you a bookcase.’

‘Seriously?’ I say. I’ve been talking about getting a bookcase forever. I clamber over the back of the sofa and drop down onto it to look at him more closely.

‘Yeah.’ He looks down at some sheets of paper on the floor by his legs. ‘It’s just not going so well.’

‘Why are you building me a bookcase?’

He glances up, looking confused, and then down again. He pokes at a pile of nails with his finger.

‘You’ve been saying for ages that you were going to get one. And that tower of books on your bedside table is a health and safety issue. So as your landlord—’

‘Shut up!’ I interrupt. ‘This is amazing! I was totally going to order one myself. I’ll pay you back for this one.’

‘You shut up,’ he says, smiling at me. ‘Definitely don’t want payment. Might need a bit of help with building it though. It’s not as easy as it looks. There are like a hundred of these.’

He holds up a tiny white plastic disc.

‘What are they even for?’

‘Not sure.’ He turns one of the pieces of paper over, frowning down at it, and then hands it to me. ‘You read it. I’m sure we can work it out between us.’

I read through the instructions – the little discs are to cover the screw heads – and then direct Henry as he starts the actual building.

‘So. Why aren’t you at the party?’

‘I was at the party,’ I say. ‘I left. And came home.’

‘Right. Was it no good?’

‘It was fine,’ I say. I read the next line of the instructions and pass the right screws over to Henry. ‘It just wasn’t really… I wanted to spend time with Dan, but it was packed and he was busy with his friends, so I just…’

‘I get that,’ Henry says. ‘He didn’t abandon you though?’

‘No!’ I say. Even though he did. A bit. ‘No, he was great.’

And he was. And he was cool when I said I had to leave, even though I know he was getting really into the stuff we were doing on the bed ’cos I could feel his erection against my thigh.

On the way back on the Tube I wondered what sex with him would be like and I couldn’t really picture it. Obviously I know what sex looks like, but when I tried to picture Dan slipping off my clothes, standing up and taking off his own, lying back down on top of me and actually going for it, I found that I just couldn’t. Or maybe I didn’t want to.

I don’t know what that means. Or maybe I do.

‘Where’s Freya?’ I ask Henry.

‘With Georgie,’ he says, frowning down at an electric screwdriver. ‘How many of the two inch screws are left?’

I twist round until I find the right pile. ‘Four.’

‘Shit.’ He sits back on his heels. ‘We’ve gone wrong somewhere.’

---

Henry ends up having to undo all the screws he’s put in so far and start the whole thing again. I get us both a beer. And then another. And by the time the bookcase is built, we’re both a bit giddy. Henry’s face is even pinker than when I came home and he’s run his hands through his hair so many times that it’s permanently on end. We both flop back onto the sofa.

‘That,’ I say, ‘is a pretty perfect bookcase.’

Henry goes pinker. ‘Yeah?’ There’s a bit at the base where we couldn’t get the screws tight enough so some of the plain wood is showing, but that doesn’t matter.

‘Yeah. I love it. Thank you so much for buying it. And building it.’

‘I have to admit,’ he says. ‘I thought it’d be easier.’ He turns his hand over where a splinter is embedded in the soft flesh at the base of his thumb.

‘You sure you don’t want me to get that out for you?’ I reach for his hand and pull it closer, peering at his thumb. There’s a red spot with a dark dot.

‘If you’re still talking about sticking a needle in my hand, then yeah, I’m sure.’

‘Wuss,’ I say.

He grins. ‘It’ll work its way out on its own.’

‘It will,’ I tell him. ‘Or you’ll get septicaemia and die.’

‘That’s comforting. Thank you.’

And then I realise I’m basically holding his hand and I let go. He shifts on the sofa and then says, ‘That’s a good lookin’ bookcase,’ and holds his beer up to clink with mine.

We sit in silence for a while, both of us drinking our beer and smiling at the bookcase. I think about Anthony. About how I thought I was in love with him. I think about the dream, about how I was so sure that Dan was the man I was meant to be with. And I think about Henry, sitting next to me now, a possibly lethal shard of wood in his thumb from the bookcase he built for me. This is why I love romance novels and romcoms. Because real life is fucked all the way up. I finish my beer.

‘How do you know when you’re in love?’ I ask Henry. I definitely shouldn’t have another.

He makes a sound not dissimilar to ‘Oof’ and then says, ‘Fuck, Bea, I don’t know.’

‘It’s just…’ I suddenly feel tearful and I’m not sure why. ‘I’ve read all this stuff over the years and friends have told me, but I still don’t know how anyone knows. You know, for sure.’

‘I’m not sure anyone does for sure,’ he says. ‘You have to have faith.’

‘I guess. I just wish I knew more about this stuff. I feel like… by my age, I should have more of a clue, you know?’

‘I think everyone does,’ he says. ‘But for what it’s worth, I think it’s too soon for you to be talking about being in love with Dan.’

‘Oh god, I know!’ I say, and drink some more beer, before realising I finished mine and I’ve just taken his. ‘It’s just… it’s not a normal situation. Like I know he’s meant for me. I thought he was meant for me. It just doesn’t—’ I jump as the front door slams downstairs.

‘Doesn’t what?’ Henry asks, looking at me intently.

Footsteps thunder up the stairs.

‘Is Celine here?’ Adam almost yells from the doorway.

‘I don’t think so,’ I say, half-turning. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Fuck,’ Adam says. He clambers over the back of the sofa and drops down next to me. ‘I think she might’ve left me.’

‘What happened?’ I ask him, glancing at Henry. Celine still hasn’t told him. I can’t believe she still hasn’t told him.

‘She’s just…’ He rubs both hands over his face. ‘She’s not herself. And she won’t tell me what’s wrong. And everything I do and say seems to piss her off. And she said she’d had enough and she left and I thought she just meant she was going out for the evening, but she’s not back and I think… I think this might be it. Fuck.’

‘Have you called her?’ Henry asks.

‘Called. Texted. WhatsApped. All that bollocks. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Maybe she’s right. Maybe we shouldn’t be together. Should it be this hard? I don’t know if it should be this hard.’ He’s more stressed than I’ve ever seen him before.

‘I think,’ Henry says. ‘Maybe it has to be at least a bit hard, or it’s not worth it, you know?’

Adam’s hunched over, staring at the floor. ‘That’s what she said,’ he says, morosely. He looks up. ‘Fuck this. Have we got beer?’

Henry’s leaning back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

‘Fridge,’ he says.

---

When Adam gets back with beers for all three of us, he and Henry spend some time comparing relationships: Adam’s first girlfriend who dumped him for his best friend and broke his heart; a girl at uni who wouldn’t tell her friends about him, and made him pretend to be her personal trainer; an older woman he met on the bus and was really into until he found out she was married. Henry hasn’t contributed much, but Adam doesn’t seem to notice.

‘What about you?’ he asks me, eventually. ‘Best and worst relationships?’

‘That’s easy,’ I say.

‘Aw, crap, I need a wazz,’ Adam says and clambers over the sofa and out of the room.

I’ve only had a couple of beers. Plus the beers at Dan’s, but I don’t think they count since the Tube journey home must have negated any affect. But I feel loose and sleepy and buzzy at the same time. If I was a different kind of person, now’s the time I’d say something like ‘Let’s go out!’ and go and get dressed up and find a club and dance and go straight to work. I’ve never been that kind of person. Plus it’s a Tuesday.

‘Bea?’ Henry says and I wonder if I’ve fallen asleep. I shuffle up the sofa, but it’s too hard to hold my head up so I slide down again.

‘That’s easy,’ I say again, even though Adam’s not here any more. ‘I’ve only had one relationship.’

‘What?’ Henry says.

‘One relationship,’ I repeat, enunciating clearly. Then I laugh. Maybe I’m a little drunk. ‘And I’m not sure you can even call it a relationship really. Because it was rubbish. And then he disappeared.’

‘Disappeared?’

I think Henry has shifted round so he’s looking at me, but I don’t want to turn and see his face. I close my eyes instead.

‘Not, like, became invisible,’ I say and then I sit up straight. ‘Unless he did. That would explain it. But that’s probably not what actually happened.’ I flop back again.

‘I wouldn’t have thought so, no,’ Henry says. ‘But… how?’

I sigh. ‘I don’t know. Before him – Anthony – it just didn’t happen. And then since him…’ I wave my hands and hope I manage to convey all the things I can’t possibly say and don’t even usually allow myself to feel. It’s a tall order, I know. But you can do it, hand!

‘But you’re…’ Henry says.

I feel the sofa move next to me and I think he’s leaning over to pick up his drink. He sits back up. I think.

‘You’re great,’ he finishes.

I open my eyes and he’s right in front of me. He looks startled and jerks his head back a little, but he doesn’t move, he carries on looking. Into my eyes. My stomach lurches and for a second I think I might be sick, but it settles down into butterflies. Big, violent butterflies, but butterflies all the same. Flappy little bastards.

I glance down at Henry’s mouth. He’s got a nice mouth. I’m not sure I’ve thought about it before, but now, seeing it up close, I don’t know how I missed it. Good lips. They look soft. I shouldn’t be staring at his mouth. I look up at his eyes and he’s still looking at me, a tiny line between his eyebrows.

‘Bea—’

‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’ Adam bellows from behind my head.

I jump – why he can never just speak I don’t know – and I see disappointment flash over Henry’s face.

‘No!’ I say, but it comes out barely audibly.

Henry twists round so he’s sitting next to me again and Adam sits on the back of the sofa and lets himself fall onto it so he’s upside down next to me. He butts my knee with his head like a goat.

‘Didn’t even spill a drop!’

He holds a beer out to Henry and then me, before awkwardly shuffling himself round to sitting, kicking the door jamb as he does.

‘Oi,’ Henry says, mildly.

‘Sorry, boss.’

I pull my legs up so I’m sitting cross-legged.

‘What’d I miss?’ Adam says. ‘Thought I might come back to find you two making sweet, sweet love.’

‘Fucking HELL,’ Henry says at the same time as I say, ‘What the fuck?’

‘Sorry,’ Adam says, holding his hands – one of them gripping his beer – up. ‘I just always thought you two would be good together.’

Before either Henry or I can say anything, Adam groans dramatically and says, ‘I would fucking kill for a cig.’

‘You don’t smoke,’ Henry says.

‘I used to,’ Adam says. ‘And I bloody loved it. Beer and a cig and, like, a curry? Best ever.’

‘I could go for a curry,’ I say. I didn’t actually eat anything at Dan’s party – which seems like ages ago now, even though it’s not that late really – and I hadn’t realised quite how hungry I was.

‘I’ll get it,’ Adam says. ‘Bhuna?’

‘For you,’ I say. ‘I’ll have… I don’t know, dhansak?’

‘I’m all right,’ Henry says. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’

I turn to look at him then and catch him looking at me.

‘Don’t,’ I say. ‘Stay up and have a curry.’

‘And a cig,’ Adam adds. ‘Or. I could go and get some weed.’ He scrambles to his feet and starts checking his pockets for, presumably, his phone and wallet.

‘Yes to curry, no to weed,’ Henry says.

‘Yeah,’ Adam says. ‘Live a little.’

‘We have to be up in eight hours,’ Henry tells me.

I shrug. ‘I’ve never stayed up all night. And I’ve never done weed.’

‘What?!’ Adam says, outraged. ‘Jesus, Bea, you really haven’t lived.’ He climbs over the sofa again and says, ‘Won’t be long.’

‘I know,’ I say, but he’s already gone.

Henry stares at me for a second and I can’t quite figure out the expression on his face. He looks confused and also fond, but something else. I look down at my beer. When did I get another beer?

The door slams downstairs.

‘He probably won’t come back,’ Henry says. ‘He’ll end up going to a club or getting arrested.’

‘Or Celine will come back and then we’ll be stuck here, listening to them.’

My face heats at the idea of sitting here with Henry while Adam and Celine are making their sex noises.

‘I once heard him shout, “Not in there!”’ Henry says. ‘I had to knock myself out with a brick.’

I snort with laughter. ‘Oh my god. I mean, it’s nice that they’ve got each other.’

‘There’s a lid for every pot, my nan used to say.’

I smile. ‘Do you believe that?’

Henry frowns. ‘I think… maybe? Sort of? I don’t think I believe in soulmates or The One or anything like that. But I think it means you find the one that fits you best. And it might not be exactly right – maybe it’s a bit cracked or bent or the handle’s missing or you’re a red pot and the lid’s blue or it’s not even a proper lid, maybe it’s a plate? But they fit together anyway. Do you know what I mean?’

I nod. ‘Yeah. I think that’s what I believe too. Maybe.’

‘Yeah? ’Cos I thought you were looking for the man of your dreams. I thought you’d found him.’

I’m startled to find my eyes fill with tears. ‘I don’t know. It’s so strange ’cos I spent so long waiting to find him. I was so sure that’s what the dream meant. And… in the dream it felt so right, you know? I know it’s mad. I do.’ I drink. ‘I’m just not sure now.’

‘About Dan?’

‘Mm.’ I drink some more. Even though I know I should stop. I should’ve stopped a while ago.

‘But it’s early days,’ Henry says. ‘You’ve only been out, what? Twice? You hardly even know him.’

‘Four times,’ I say. ‘Five including tonight. But you’re right.’

But I know enough to know it’s not right – it doesn’t feel like I want it to feel. And I really don’t know what to do with that information.