“Just when we’re getting to know each other?”

This was what Rosaline imagined defusing a bomb must be like: she didn’t want to be here, she had no idea what she was doing, and there was a really good chance it was going to blow up in her face. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve given the wrong impression, but I’d be way happier if this stayed a drinking-wine-and-chatting type evening. Rather than a, y’know, getting-naked type evening.”

“Oh come on.” Alain also stood up, making Rosaline suddenly aware of how difficult it would be to get out of the room. “You must admit she’s a beautiful woman. Don’t you think she’s beautiful, Rosaline?”

“I mean, obviously. But—”

All at once, her lap was full of Liv. And Liv was kissing her. And Alain was watching Liv kiss her and not in an Oh dear, my drunk friend is embarrassing herself way. Since she couldn’t remove Liv without throwing her on the floor or putting her hands places that could well be interpreted as encouraging, Rosaline was reduced to turning her face away in a vain attempt to signal she wasn’t into this.

“Your mouth is so soft,” murmured Liv.

“Can you please get off me?”

“And you taste so sweet.”

“No. Really. Get off me.”

“Calm down, Rosaline.” That was Alain. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

She glared at him as best she could past Liv’s ever-encroaching lips. “It’s not a bit of fun. It’s a sexual assault.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re both very attractive women. You know me, you trust me, and you like each other. What’s wrong with three adults coming together to explore themselves?”

“The bit where I’m not up for it.”

Past the point of worrying about mixed signals, she grabbed Liv by her upper arms and attempted to shove her sideways. But then Liv grabbed her back and they fell in a tangle on the sofa, Liv laughing in her ear and trying to kiss her again as Rosaline fought to get free. With a desperate twist, she managed to roll herself onto the floor, cracking her elbow on the coffee table as she went down.

From there she scrambled to her feet, knocking what was left of the chicken wings all over the carpet, and made a dash up the stairs for the bathroom. Slamming the door and locking it behind her, she scrambled to the far side of the room and crouched against the wall, trembling.

After a minute or two, she heard Alain’s footsteps outside and saw the door handle twist.

“Rosaline”—his voice drifted through the wood, muffled but definitely exasperated—“you’re being very childish.”

Oh God, how had she got herself into this mess? Had she given the wrong signals or accidentally said, Hey, you know what I’d really like? For you to hook me up with a bicurious woman I’ve met exactly twice. “You both tried to have sex with me when I didn’t want to have sex with you. I’m not being childish. I just don’t feel safe right now.”

A sigh. “You know that’s not what happened.”

“I was there.”

Now a pause. Followed by Alain’s most reasonable tone, “Clearly this evening hasn’t gone the way any of us intended. Why don’t you come downstairs and we’ll try again?”

“By ‘try again,’ you mean try to get me into bed with Liv again, don’t you?”

“I mean, try to enjoy each other’s company and see what happens. You’re many things, Rosaline-um-Palmer, but you’re not a prude.”

It was very much the wrong moment for him to “Rosaline-um-Palmer” her. Cute and, now she thought about it, slightly demeaning nicknames did not go down well when you’d freaked someone out enough that they were hiding from you in your bathroom. Because actually she hadn’t got herself into this situation. Alain had put her in this situation. Deliberately. “What the absolute fuck? Are you seriously trying to convince me that I should prove that I’m not sexually repressed by screwing your straight ex?”

“Liv isn’t certain she’s straight and I think it’s important to respect that.”

“Oh my God. You never stop, do you?”

He rattled the door handle, slightly harder now. “I don’t understand what’s got into you tonight. You’ve been very open about the fact you’re attracted to women, you’ve obviously lived rather recklessly, and we’ve done nothing to make you uncomfortable.”

“Not telling me you were inviting your ex made me uncomfortable. Plying us both with alcohol made me uncomfortable. All your shitty little comments made me uncomfortable.” She was running out of breath quicker than she was running out of grievances. “Talking about my body with your friend made me uncomfortable. Watching me get assaulted like it was a late-night film on Channel 5 made me uncomfortable. And standing outside the bathroom where I have locked myself for good reasons acting like you’re the one who’s been hurt doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It makes me fucking furious.”

There was a long silence.

“Self-righteousness doesn’t suit you, Rosaline,” he said finally.

It was really important that she stayed angry so she didn’t cry. “I’d like to say this . . . this . . . entitled predator deal you’ve got going on doesn’t suit you either. But actually, I’m starting to think it’s just who you are.”

“I’m going to give you some space now,” he told her through the door. His voice wasn’t cold exactly, but it was calm—the kind of calm she tried when Amelie was throwing a tantrum and refusing to eat her peas or do her homework. “Perhaps when you’ve settled down we can have a proper conversation.”

This was pointless. This was completely pointless. Worse, it was beginning to feel like arguing with her father. There was that same refusal to acknowledge any reality outside of his own narrow perceptions. “I want to go home,” she said.

“That’s all very well, but none of us are in a fit state to drive and the trains have stopped running so—when you’re ready—you might as well come out of the bathroom, apologise to Liv, and make the best of things.”

The idea that he thought Rosaline was the one who should be apologising was enough to make her want to strangle him with the hand towel. But she knew this game. She’d been playing it for years. If she stayed quiet, it meant she was admitting defeat; if she got angry, it meant she was being irrational. All she could do was hang on to what she knew and stop trying to talk to somebody who had clearly never been listening. “I don’t trust you. I’m not coming out of the bathroom.”