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tied a new piece of ribbon to its ring, but left the old ribbon dangling, and John hung it from the light. He always banged his head on it when he went into the room, but somehow it seemed to belong.
    When they moved Christopher into his own room for the first time they had a little party, just close family and next-door neighbours. No champagne. Beer and cheap wine was all they could afford on John’s wages.
    The house-warming came later, when Gill had stopped breast-feeding and Christopher could be palmed off on her parents for a night without too much trouble. Twelve weeks of enforced isolation proved too repressive for both of them; John had finished a four-pack before anyone had arrived, and though Gill swore at him for his thoughtlessness, she had secretly started working her way down the vodka. By midnight they were both drunk, ignoring each other, flirting with anyone who came by, yet each sneaking glances at the other and wondering what had gone wrong.
    Gary Pearce came up to John at 1 am, his expression creeping between embarrassment and pride and back again. John had seen him talking to the younger sister of one of Gill’s friends. He couldn’t remember her name, but he knew she was only 18. She had spent most of the night staring wide-eyed into Gary’s worldly-wise face as he rambled on semi-coherently, probably about his job as a lawyer which seemed interesting at first hearing until one studied the minutiae of his daily chores.
    “John, I’ve been your mate for a long time,” he began, moving in close so he could whisper in John’s ear.
    “Spit it out, Gary. I don’t need a preamble after all this time. What is it, Durex?”
    “No, no, I’ve got them.” He looked back at the girl, pretty in an immature way; she flashed a nervous smile. “I need a room where I can... you know. Somewhere where we won’t be disturbed.”
    John glanced at Gill, laughing raucously with four of her friends in a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Christ, Gary, do you have to.” He looked back at the girl, suddenly remembering how he used to be, and caught himself. “There’s only Christopher’s room. There are coats and things in the others. But for God’s sake, don’t let Gill find out.”
    “Thanks, John, you’re a mate.” Gary tapped him on the shoulder with his fist and then hurried back to the girl and whispered in her ear. A second later they were gone.
    John watched Gill laughing at the centre of the whirl. It was just like when he had first seen her, that night in the bar when Andy Johnson’s stag party had stumbled across Gill and her friends’ Friday night out. The memory burned brightly in his mind, casting a long shadow over the last few months.
    Gary Pearce appeared at his elbow. “Come on, John, raise your game,” he laughed. “The room’s locked. I need a key.”
    “There’s no lock on the door, Gary. You’ve had too much to drink. Remember what a door handle is for? You turn it, the door opens.”
    “John, it’s locked, I tell you.” There was a snap of irritation in his voice. “We both tried it. Yes, we turned the handle. And I put my shoulder to it. Maybe it’s jammed.”
    John shook his head. “You’re going bloody mad. It never jams. A breeze could blow it open. Come on.”
    He pushed his way past Gary and led the way up the stairs, stepping awkwardly around the bodies in various stages of inebriation and romantic entanglement. The girl was standing outside the nursery door looking sheepish. John tried the handle and the door opened instantly, revealing a crack of darkness about six inches wide.
    John looked at the girl, then Gary, and sighed wearily. Gary was shaking his head. “No, it was definitely...” He turned to the girl. “Did somebody...?”
    The phone rang downstairs. Alcohol always diminished John’s tolerance and he had had enough of Gary’s stupid game. He went to push past him to go downstairs when he had the strange, magnetic feeling that someone was watching him