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elephant baby, darling, obviously I adore you, but if you don’t get off my knee now I’m going to collapse and die,’ my beloved announced loudly.

      Amanda brayed with laughter, as she was the dictionary antonym of an elephant, whereas clearly, I was the synonym.

      There was nowhere to sit, so I edged to the end of the group, red-faced but pretending to take it as a joke, next to the naturally red-faced Angus who was staring surlily at a pint of English bitter. This was a bad ploy, because by the time I re-emerged from my mild and unnoticed strop to re-enter the conversation, the conversation was away from my nutsoid flatmate altogether and back on to bloody weddings again.

      ‘So,’ Amanda was saying, ‘we’re going to hire out the entire castle and have heather and haggis and tartan swathing and pipers …’

      ‘… parading out of my arse,’ a voice said quietly in my ear, in a not bad approximation of Amanda’s posh squawk. I giggled before coming to my senses that it had in fact been uttered by Angus the Sulky. No one else had noticed.

      ‘Hello there,’ I said, warmer than I had intended.

      ‘Hullo.’

      ‘Good time on Saturday?’

      ‘Hmm,’ he said, with a pointed look at the intended duo.

      Our fast becoming habitual embarrassed silence stole over us.

      ‘So, are you older or younger than Frase …’ As soon as I asked the question I remembered I already knew. God, my small-talk radar was getting worse all the time.

      ‘Still younger.’ He almost half smiled. I briefly wondered what he’d look like if he really did smile.

      Someone set another drink in front of me, and I smelled Alex’s aftershave and closed my eyes.

      ‘Oh, have you two met?’

      Alex and Angus shook hands in that wary fashion blokes do when the girl they’re going out with introduces them to another bloke.

      ‘Hi. Err, you’re Fraser’s little brother?’

      Well, of course he was. D’oh!

      ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

      ‘You were at the engagement party, weren’t you? Brilliant night, wasn’t it?’

      Then quite an odd thing happened. Angus and I exchanged glances, and I almost smiled.

      ‘Yes. Yes, it was quite something.’

      ‘So, what are you doing down here then? Working?’

      ‘Yes, I’ve got a short-term contract in Docklands. If I like it I might stay …’

      ‘Bet you miss the sheep in hoochter-choochter land though, eh?’

      I cringed.

      ‘No. Actually, I’ve met plenty of woolly twats since I arrived.’

      Double rude! Yikes! Fortunately, Alex had already turned back to Charlie to make some other sheep-related remark and had missed it. But I was shocked, and puzzled: why did this ginger bloke hate us all so much? And if he did, why was he here?

      Nothing happened to change my opinion as the evening wore on. Angus seemed staggeringly unimpressed by Alex’s American stories, which I still found funny, even though I’d heard them several times. More pints were consumed, more chatter went round, and he didn’t feel the need to offer a single comment, make one remark, or laugh – not even when Alex got on to the time he decided he was going to become a rodeo star!

      I looked around for Fran. She had managed to get herself completely cornered by Charlie, whose eyes were as round as Fran’s nicely shaped baps. He’d got her up against the wall at the back side of the table, and everyone else was in that mildly blootered universe where they didn’t notice much around them (except Amanda, who was drinking Aqua Libra, but never noticed anyone other than herself anyway).

      ‘Darling,’ he was slurring, ‘you’re absolutely top totty …’

      ‘Fuck off, Charlie.’ Fran sounded dangerous.

      ‘Come, give Charlie a little kiss –’

      He reached out to grab her. Fran put her arms up and, without meaning to, slapped him in the face. The atmosphere turned suddenly.

      ‘I say, did you bloody slap me, you bitch?’

      That posh charm was obviously spread pretty thin.

      Fran drew herself up to her full height, looking like she was on fire with humiliation and rage.

      ‘No, but I fucking should have done, you wanker!’

      ‘You fucking little bitch!’

      Then, and I mean it, he really looked as though he was going to go for her. Everyone watched like they were caught in a sci-fi time freeze, except for Fran, who seemed to be moving backwards in slow motion. Then suddenly there was a flash of ginger as Angus leapt up, grabbed Charlie’s arms, and in one movement threw him against the wall with the full force of his body.

      ‘STOP IT!’

      There was a long pause. For some reason, rather a lot of people seemed to be panting. The landlord was heading ominously in our direction, and Angus and Charlie were staring at each other very intently.

      Alex leaned in. ‘Come on, Charles, leave it,’ he said softly.

      After an agonizing wait, Charlie lowered the eye contact, put his fangs away and stomped out of the pub. We were all looking at each other, half worried, half thrilled to bits with excitement.

      ‘Well, what a cunt!’ said Fran. And that was a word we never, ever used.

      Outside, Charlie was obviously wanting to go, but Alex was hovering to see me.

      ‘Ehm, I’d better take Charlie home. I’ll stay there tonight.’

      I didn’t want him to go, especially not with that … git.

      ‘Good night then,’ said Alex, and he walked off supporting Charlie.

      The rest of us stood around wondering what to do next. Fran thanked Angus, but it seemed almost distasteful to mention it; like he had seen her being raped or something. Fraser was wandering over in our direction, looking concerned and worried, when Amanda grabbed him firmly by the arm, turned round and cheerily said, ‘Well we’d better go!’ as if they’d just spent the afternoon touring the village fête. As she hustled him off to her car, Fraser looked over his shoulder at Angus, who was standing looking a bit embarrassed, and gave him an awkward grin meant to convey shame, apology, pride and general goodwill all at once. Angus gave him one back, and they suddenly looked very alike.

      ‘Right! All back to mine then?’ I said, as usual. Fran and I were dying to discuss it, obviously, but it would be a lot easier if Angus didn’t come …

      However, he was already striding off in the opposite direction.

      ‘Oh, look at him,’ said Fran, as he headed off towards the tube. ‘He’s my pig in shining armour. My Lone Rasher. My ginger …’

      ‘Shush, Fran. He bloody sorted that out, OK?’

      ‘Oh, for God’s sake! I’ve had enough hassle tonight already, don’t you think?’

      Now Fran was in a mood.

      ‘Come on, Franster, don’t bother about it. That revolting prat mauling you – bleurgh … Come on back, have a glass of wine, stop worrying.’

      

      We piled back to the flat, managing for once not to cackle on the stairwell. Fran was still a bit shocked, so I sat her down, poured her a big glass of whisky (yes, it was the one Linda had won in a raffle, but it was medicinal) and let her tell me about it all over again as if I hadn’t been there.

      I couldn’t stop thinking

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