It was a record, of course. Miranda opened the parcel on her bed like a school girl on her birthday unwrapping a mystery package and hoping it was from the boy she was in love with - except it was from Eric, of course, and it was a record, of course.

His record. The band's. Except the rest of the band didn't exist, as far as Miranda was concerned. They were there, sure, but they may as well have been session musicians: Miranda had met them once or twice but she didn't know them. She knew Eric. She'd got drunk with Eric.

It was a record. Of course. He'd told her it would be, so she shouldn't be surprised. But she didn't have a record player, and she was sure she'd told him that, so what was the point of him giving this to her? So she could admire it? Well, she admired it, she was impressed by it, and she even found herself unjustifiably proud of it, proud of Eric, proud of what he'd achieved - but in the end it was music, and she couldn't listen to it. It may as well have not existed at all.

And the cover art was lacklustre, too. That was dismaying. The cover wasn't ugly: if it was ugly that might have been better, because at least that would have meant that somebody was trying something. But this was just . . . a photo of a house, with the band's name and the name of the record on it. The sky above the house wasn't even blue. The house wasn't even in focus. And that band name was still terrible.

But they'd got someone to take the photo, and design the cover, and they'd got someone to record the songs - both the songs, it was a real record with two sides and the songs listed on the back and everything - and that was damn impressive. Miranda thought there must surely come a time when she wouldn't be impressed by the simple fact of knowing somebody who made music and recorded it, but that time hadn't come yet.

Rona had a record player. God, of course she did! How could Miranda forget that? And of course Rona was at work, damn it. Miranda suddenly couldn't wait for her to get back: it wouldn't be right to just go into her room and use her record player uninvited, but as soon as Rona came back she wouldn't want to do anything other than listen to the record, Miranda was certain of that. She was certain of it because it was all she wanted to do.