I'm out on the street when a small hand pulls my arm back.
"Andrew."
I'd recognise that voice anywhere. I turn on the spot to see Clara Delos looking anxiously up at me. I wait for her to speak. I've made myself vulnerable enough for one night.
"Did you mean what you said?"
"Clara, that's not the sort of thing I joke about." The words come out harsher than I intend.
"Sorry... I didn't know." Her eyes are softer and kind; compassionate.
"No one at school did," I tell her, "except James."
She's nodding. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your problem..." I don't understand why I sound so cold all of a sudden. Is it because I've let her see a part of me that I normally keep hidden; buried?
"I know but... can we go somewhere? Can we talk?"
"I don't want to talk about my mother."
"Not about your mother," she says quietly, "not unless you want to. I want to talk about us."
"Clara, you've made it clear there is no us."