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steered me off to the tables near the back, where a dividing wall shut off some of the bass from the dance floor. You could talk there, more or less, though conversation wasn’t generally the object of Lou’s Powerhouse visits: he liked to see and be seen. He asked me what I wanted to drink, and before I could reply, snagged a passing glass collector for a jug of margaritas. The first one was a bad idea. The second and third were worse, but number one had disguised them, and I thought I might have been experiencing some kind of return to life. Enough, anyway, to reply to Lou’s small talk, which seemed nervous for some reason. Distracted. I nodded and smiled and probably kept my mask in place for a good five seconds after he fell silent, pressed his knee against mine beneath the table and reached for my hand. “Matthew. Matt, love…”
    It was like being propositioned by your brother or some kindly old uncle who’s been around your entire life and never so much as looked at you sideways. I stared at him, trying not to understand. There had been times when I’d even wondered if Lou was gay, or if it was just simpler for him to act it because he hung around so much with me and Joe. Just as I was persuading myself that sleepers plus tequila probably did add up to hallucination, he tightened his grip, leaned in and tried to kiss me.
    I nearly went back over out of my chair. I didn’t mean to shove him away—it was a reflex, and I made up for it as best I could an instant later by catching him, returning him gently to his seat. “Jesus Christ, Lou!”
    “Ah, come on, Matt!” It was a raw shout, and the other lovers and hopefuls who’d come back there to try their luck began to glance around. “Why the fuck not?” he continued a little more quietly, glaring at me over the salt-lined rim of his glass. “We’ve practically lived together all our lives—you, me and Joe. And Joe’s gone, in case you hadn’t noticed. Not coming back, or he’d never have asked you to sell the sodding flat. What’s the matter with me?”
    My brain was working slowly. I’d been asleep for twenty-four hours or so, and anything could have happened in that time. Maybe I’d walked in my sleep, had some kind of conversation with Lou that would mean he now knew my latest property news. I saw that he was slowly catching up with himself, realising what he’d said. He put his head in his hands. “ Shit, ” he said, muffled through his fingers. “Look, Marnie came round to see me yesterday. She said she’d told you, and…she wasn’t sure you’d taken it in. She wanted me to keep an eye on you, make sure you kept the place decent for viewers. Let the agent in. That’s all.”
    Weird. I’d thought I’d hit bottom a fortnight ago when I’d dirty-danced to orgasm with Nicky in the middle of this club. Again last night on the moor. But this was its own new kind of low. “Lou,” I said, hardly knowing my own voice. I’d done plenty of yelling in my time but not had many occasions for cold anger. “I’d appreciate it if…from now on you, Joe and Marnie stayed the fuck out of my private life. And…what made you think that if Joe was out, you were in?”
    “Why not? You’ve shagged everything else with a Y chromosome since he left, haven’t you?”
    My gut tightened. Despite the quelling remains of the temazepam, a hot stone lodged in my throat. “Christ. Is that what you want, Lou? A shag?”
    “No! Well—yeah, but…more than that. I want to look after you. Live with you, now you’ve got to leave the flat. We’ll get somewhere together.” That sounded reasonable enough. Up until five minutes ago, I might even have agreed. But my continuing openmouthed silence scratched his surface once more, and his face twisted. “Listen, Matt. You’re practically a drunk. I heard your supervisor telling Dr. Andrews this morning she was thinking of letting you go. I’ve seen all your crap, and I’d still…I’d still have you. Who