‘Love you,’ I say as I hug her goodbye. Because that’s what we do, now. We hug, we kiss, we throw around the L word like honeymooners.
I can see too that after a sceptical start at NCT, Scarlett is starting to warm to us. Even rely on us.
I can see that what we faked at first – a crew of friends, just because we happened to have booked onto the same course – is becoming real.
Scarlett trusts us. Trusts me.
She looks to Manchester, to the men, with suspicion.
Not here, amongst the milky lattes and the wedges of chocolate cake and the endless, endless packets of wet wipes. Bad things could never happen among the wet wipes.
Sometimes, as we budge up closer, I feel bad – even a little sick sometimes – about what I’ve done.
But now, it’s too late anyway.
Also, what about what she’s done to me? That’s far worse, surely. I remind myself of that whenever the nausea comes.