During the week Alain cancelled one of his prior obligations and met up with Rona for coffee instead. This took some persuasion: although she'd quickly forgiven Mal for what had happened at the gig on Saturday night, Rona had been less willing to let Alain off. As far as she was concerned, the whole thing was his fault.

Alain recognised that this was what she thought, and duly rang her up afterwards to apologise in a roundabout sort of way. He managed to persuade her to meet him. They chatted for a while, at first in a rather forced manner, and he managed to make her laugh once or twice (though somewhat against her will). Finally, he asked her:

"So, Sacha then . . ."

"Oh yeah?" Rona raised her eyebrow, but other than that her face remained expressionless.

"Do you have her 'phone number?" asked Alain.

"Why?"

Alain didn't say anything. Rona sighed and put down her coffee cup.

"Fine, I'll give it to you if it means that much to you. But -" she pointed a finger at him - "I like her, okay? So don't be an arsehole. 'Cause frankly, if you piss her off and I have to choose between you two, the way you're going at the moment you're not gonna win."

"Hey -" said Alain defensively, "my intentions are entirely honourable."

Rona give him a look like he'd just told her he was the Pope. "Bullshit" she said. "Any idiot can tell you're just trying to get laid. That's fine, but I'm telling you she's sending you all the wrong signals. If you think you're in with a chance, fine, I'll give you her number because you're still a friend - just - but I'm telling you, you're kidding yourself. And if she's not interested, for Christ's sake just leave the poor girl alone, will you?"

Alain grinned as if this was a bet. "Give me the number, please? We'll see."

"Yeah, yeah. You got a pen then?"