We slept one either side of him in the huge bed, in most of our clothes. He was in gray jersey shorts. He smelled expensive; I remember that. I remember the expensive-feeling hotel room darkness, too, and thinking that I was there on false pretenses, really, that it was like being thrown forward in life. There was a lot I had to do before he and I could really be friends. He was twenty-nine and successful. I’d done nothing. I looked like nothing. I had to finish my exams, do my A-levels; I had to leave home, get my degree, become a person in the world.