‘More than a little, you were bloody awful—’

‘I know—’

‘Selfish, and stuck-up and boring actually—’

‘Yes, you’ve made that point—’

‘But even so. I should have stuck it out a bit, what with your mum and everything—’

‘That’s no excuse though.’

‘Well, no, but it was bound to give you a knock.’

‘I’ve still got that letter you wrote. It’s a very beautiful letter, I appreciated it.’

‘But still, I should have tried harder to get in touch. You’re meant to stick by your friends aren’t you? Take the blow.’

‘I don’t blame you—’

‘But even so.’ To her embarrassment, she found that there were tears in her eyes.

‘Hey, hey, what’s up, Em?’

‘I’m sorry, drunk too much is all. .’

‘Come here.’ He put his arms around her, his face against the bare skin of her neck, smelling shampoo and damp silk, and she breathed into his neck, his aftershave and sweat and alcohol, the smell of his suit, and they stood like this for a while until she caught her breath and spoke.

‘I tell you what it is. It’s. . when I didn’t see you, I thought about you every day, I mean every dayin some way or another—’

‘Same here—’

‘—even if it was just “I wish Dexter could see this” or “where’s Dexter now?” or “Christ, that Dexter, what an idiot”, you know what I mean, and seeing you today, well, I thought I’d got you back — my bestfriend. And now all this, the wedding, the baby — I’m so, so happy for you, Dex. But it feels like I’ve lost you again.’

‘Lost — how?’

‘You know what happens, you have a family, your responsibilities change, you lose touch with people—’

‘Not necessarily—’

‘No really, it happens all the time, I know it. You’ll have different priorities, and all these new friends, nice young couples that you met at ante-natal classes who’ll have babies too and understand, or you’ll be too tired because you’ve been up all night—’

‘Actually, we’re going to have one of those babies that aren’t too much trouble. Just leave them in a room apparently. With a tin opener, a little gas stove.’ He could feel her laughter against his chest, and at that moment he thought that there was no better feeling than making Emma Morley laugh. ‘It won’t be like that, I promise.’

‘Do you?’

‘Absolutely.’

She pulled away to look at him. ‘You swear? No more disappearing?’

‘I won’t if you won’t.’

Their lips touched now, mouths pursed tight, their eyes open, both of them stock still. The moment held, a kind of glorious confusion.

‘What’s the time?’ said Emma, twisting her face away in panic.

Dexter tugged his sleeve and looked at his watch. ‘Just coming up to midnight.’

‘Well! We should go.’

They walked on in silence, unsure about what had happened and what would happen next. Two more turnings brought them once again to the exit of the maze, and back to the party. Emma was about to open the heavy oak door when he took her hand.

‘Em?’

‘Dex?’

He wanted to take hold of her hand and walk back into the maze. He would turn his phone off, and they would just stay in there until the party was over, get lost and talk about all that had happened.

‘Friends again?’ he said eventually.

‘Friends again.’ She let go of his hand. ‘Now, let’s go and find your fianc'ee. I want to congratulateher.’

SATURDAY 15 JULY 2000

Richmond, Surrey

Jasmine Alison Viola Mayhew.

She was born in the late evening of the third day of the new Millennium, and so would always be as old as the century. A neat but healthy 6lbs 6ozs, and to Dexter’s mind, inexpressibly beautiful, he knew that he would sacrifice his life for her, while at the same time feeling fairly confident that the situation was unlikely to arise.

That night, sitting in the low-slung vinyl hospital chair, clutching the tiny, crimson-faced bundle, Dexter Mayhew made a solemn resolution. He resolved to do the right thing from now on. A few biological and sexual imperatives aside, all his words and actions would now be fit for his daughter’s ears and eyes. Life would be lived as if under Jasmine’s constant scrutiny. He would never do anything that might cause her pain or anxiety or embarrassment and there would be nothing, absolutely nothing in his life to be ashamed of anymore.

This solemn resolution held for approximately ninety-five minutes. As he sat in a toilet cubicle, attempting to exhale cigarette smoke into an empty Evian bottle, a little must have escaped and set off the detector, waking his exhausted wife and daughter from their much-needed sleep and as he was escorted from the cubicle, still clutching the screw-top bottle of yellow grey smoke, the look in his wife’s tired, narrowed eyes said it all: Dexter Mayhew was simply not up to it.

The growing antagonism between them was exacerbated by the fact that, as the new century began, he found himself without a job, or even the prospect of a job. The broadcast slot for Sport Xtremehad crept inexorably towards dawn, until it became clear that no-one, not even BMX riders, could stay up that late on a weeknight, no matter how rad, sweet or old skool the moves. The series limped to an end and Paternity Leave shaded into the less fashionable state of unemployment.