And he’s right. I know he’s right. But she’s the only one I have. I don’t want to tell him that, but I think he probably knows. He looks like henowsknowswsof things. He’s a proper man. A serious man. A man who knows his way around the world.

“It’s my birthday,” I say. “My eighteenth. Yesterday. I didn’t even want to go out.”

“Eighteenth?” There’s a surprise in his voice. I hear that surprise from people all the time.

“Yeah, my eighteenth.”

“I’m sure you’ve had much better birthday parties than this one.”

But I haven’t. They’re normally shit. I don’t want to tell him that either.

He turns into...