Tony's house was surprisingly organised.

Allie walked slowly down the hall after her, looking interestedly at all the little mirrors on the wall.

"Should I take my shoes off?" She asked to Tony's back.

"Nah, it's fine."

They turned into the living room, all clean angles and beige rugs and tasselled lampshades. Her father was sat on the sofa watching television.

"Who's this, Tony?" He asked sharply, without looking up.

"A friend," Tony said, not stopping walking.

"Nice to meet you, sir, I'm Alison," Allie said nervously.

Tony heaved a great sigh as they left the living room.

"Leave your door open," her dad called after them.

"Don't encourage him," Tony said as they started up the stairs.

"What?"

"Just... don't give him any ammunition."

Allie decided not to ask what Tony meant.

They reached the landing. There was a long, Aztec patterned rug down the hall, and the walls were papered crimson. There were no photographs on the walls. Instead, Allie looked at the artwork. Most pieces were no bigger than A5, all framed in dark wood, mainly abstract, even childlike, a couple with star strewn embroidery. There were three doors off the hall: straight ahead a white door stood ajar and showed a sparkling black tiled bathroom; to their left, a closed door; to their right, a plain wooden door. A small bronze plaque was screwed to this door, swirling, unfamiliar words etched upon it.

Tony turned right and pushed the wooden door open. Allie tapped the plaque as they entered, and asked,

"What's it mean?"

"It's Latin."

"Latin for what?"

Tony didn't answer, but pushed the door almost closed behind them and switched on the light. Allie sighed softly as the room came into twinkling view.

Tony's bedspread was spangled with little golden stars. Strings of fairy lights dangled round the window, over the full length mirror, round the bed head. The curtains were heavy and dark. The big light was covered in an orange Saturn shaped lantern, casting the room in a warm glow. A record player stood in one corner on an antique wooden table, a box of records under it. Books were strew across the floor, white shelves holding more of them, as well as a small, neat makeup bag and a couple of nail varnishes. A white wardrobe with silver drawer handles stood in the corner. No clothes were on the floor. The only thing that looked out of place was a messy pile of papers on the small desk.

"Wow," Allie said quietly. Tony hurried to the turntable with her back to Allie to hide her flush of pleasure at Allie's reaction to her room.

"Here," she said. "Listen to this."

They sat down on the bed, side by side, and listened.

"When we first fell, we used to lie in my bed. But now, where my brain's supposed to be there's just some clouds instead. And part of me's living, and part of me's dead, and the part of my heart you used to lie in, it fled. And it doesn't matter. I still feel the same."

*

"Thank you for having me,"Allie said, turning at the door.

"It was... really nice," Tony said, raising a hand in farewell.

Allie hesitated, then hugged her briefly.

"See you later!" And she ran down the drive.

Tony stood there in the doorway, her face burning, her heart swelling with joy.