Richard was greeted enthusiastically, to put it mildly, by Emma’s Cocker Spaniel, Trudie.  The door had been answered by one of Emma’s ten-year-old brothers, although Richard couldn’t have specified which one, as Lloyd and Liam were identical twins – and, boy, were they identical.  Even down to their gold-rimmed glasses, and the vast majority of their clothes.  Now, how insane was that?

   Thank God I’m not a Steve Anderson clone, thought Rich. 

   Then again, if a Julie Bishop clone happened to come with the package…

   "Are you Emma’s new boyfriend?" demanded Lloyd/Liam.

   "She’s not going out with John anymore, but she said she was never going to go out with another boy.  Ever."  It was Lloyd/Liam Mark Two.  Where had he sprung from?

   "But Catherine always says that, whenever she breaks up with one on her boyfriends," reasoned Mark One.

   "Yeah, and now she’s getting married."

   "Exactly."

   "That’s teenage girls for you, Lloyd," said the one who must, by default, have been Liam, sounding more like Emma’s dad than her kid brother.

   Emma came hurtling down the stairs, at this point.  "Richard – I didn’t think you were going to turn up!  Have those two been bugging you?"

   "Nah, they’re all right," lied Richard, following Emma upstairs to her bedroom, which was roughly the size of the walk-in wardrobe in Richard’s own room.

   "It isn’t pink anymore."  The décor was mainly lemon-yellow, and there weren’t any posters on the walls.

   "What isn’t?"

   "Your bedroom."

   "It hasn’t been pink for years."

   "It hasn’t?"

   "No."

   "Oh, right.  Well, it looks really nice, anyway."  And what there was of it was attractive.

   "My rabbit died – today, while I was at school.  I don’t think I can take anymore, Rich."  That was when the tears started.

   "Hey, you’re okay."  Richard wanted to hold her.  She cried like a little kid who’d fallen over in the playground and cut her knee.  But it felt wrong to touch her.  She was John’s girlfriend.  And she wasn’t a little kid.  She was a young woman.  Not as physically mature as Charlotte or Bryony but, with that tight top on, and the make-up…Did Emma normally wear make-up?  Rich wasn’t sure.

   "Julie’s mad, you know.  You’re a million times nicer than Steve."

   Rich shrugged.

   "Let’s go out together."

   "S-sorry?"

   "I’m asking you out, Rich."

   "Emma, I – I’m sorry.  I had no idea.  I…"

   Emma giggled.  "Your face!  I don’t fancy you, Richard.  I just thought that we could get back at them.  At John and Charlotte."

   "I’m having trouble keeping up here, Em.  I don’t want to 'get back at' John or Charlotte.  They’re my friends."

   "And I’m not?  Is that what you’re saying?"

   "Emma, come on.  This is silly."

   His mobile rang.

   "Leave it," said Emma.

   Sod that.  "Hello?"

   "Richard, it’s Bryony.  Listen, do you know where you brother is?"

   "Bryony, are you okay?  You sound…"

   "It’s Julie.  She – she’s…Do you know where Steve is?  She’s in hospital, Rich.  The bastards left her for dead."