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No piles of washing-up tottered precariously in the sink, no midden of newspapers obscured the table; no broken cupboard doors hung open spewing forth cartons of soup, pasta, Pot Noodles. The two tiny work surfaces were clear, the stainless steel sink shone, and all rickety doors were wedged tightly shut. The lino wasn't sticky either, I noticed, testing it tentatively with the soles of my shoes. Suddenly, the sitting-room door opened and a blonde in a pink dress flew out.

‘Oh, Ant. This is my flatmate, Caro.’

‘Hi.’ She looked flushed and anxious, and shot him only the briefest of glances. ‘Evie, my mother's here!’ she whispered in terror, pointing back over her shoulder at the door she'd slammed.

‘Oh, no!’

Christ, no wonder she'd cleared up. Caro's mother was a terrifying woman, formidable, critical and probing, the headmistress at the local high school. I didn't relish the usual inquisition about what I was going to do with my life as she fixed me with a fishy eye. ‘You can't go on working in that bookshop for ever, Evie.’ Or, when introduced to Ant, ‘Another boyfriend, Evie?’ hanging – hopefully unspoken – in the air. Oh, no, this particular foursome was not going to work.

‘We'll go,’ I said quickly. ‘Grab a drink in town.’

‘Good idea.’ Caro hustled us towards the door.

‘Oh, but surely…’ Ant looked perplexed.

‘She's a Buddhist,’ I told him firmly. I wasn't quite sure what this was, but I was pretty sure they were teetotal. ‘Doesn't approve.’

‘Doesn't touch a drop,’ agreed Caro. ‘And really hates anyone who does.’ Her hand was already on the doorknob. She swung the door wide and ushered us out.

As she went to shut it behind us, though, I stayed it with my hand. Peered back round. ‘You washed up,’ I said in awe, marvelling at the sparkling sink. ‘Must have taken hours.’

For weeks now, Caro and I had blithely skirted the remains of a particularly gruesome dinner party – casseroles burned black, mashed potato caked onto pans, all growing penicillin, forcing us to fill the kettle at an excruciatingly awkward angle.

‘I threw it away,’ she confided softly, glancing over her shoulder in case her mother heard.

I giggled. ‘You didn't?’

‘I bloody did. I couldn't face it. It's all in the dustbins outside. You can get it out, if you like,’ she added with a defiant grin. ‘See you.’ And with that, she shut the door.

‘Is she serious?’ Ant asked as we tripped down the stairs.

‘Oh, definitely. Caro and I have a very simple approach to clearing up. Most of our stuff is shoved under beds, or even… damn.’ I stopped. ‘I need some ciggies. Won't be a mo.’

I bounded back upstairs, fishing the key out of my coat pocket. Opening the front door and darting through to my bedroom, I hissed ‘Fags!’ at Caro, who was still in the kitchen. She was bending over the tiny table, which, I noticed, was laid for two, lighting a candle. I stopped in surprise. Turned. Her pink dress was very short and her thick blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders into, what I now realized, was quite a spectacular cleavage. As a blast of Rive Gauche rocketed up my nostrils, I was aware of Ant, appearing in the doorway. He'd followed me up the stairs, perhaps for a second look. Caro straightened up; seemed caught. I folded my arms. Cocked an eyebrow.

‘Your mother?’

She flushed. Blew out the match. ‘Ah.’

‘Hasn't she bloody gone yet?’ boomed a familiar voice from behind the sitting-room door.

I froze. Then my head rotated slowly towards it. In another moment I'd crossed the kitchen and flung the door wide. An arresting sight met my eyes. A naked man faced me, stretched out on the goatskin rug in front of the two-bar electric fire, hands locked behind his head. Although the face was very familiar, it wasn't one I was used to seeing round these parts. Neither were his parts. He sat up languidly, casually flipping a corner of the rug over to cover them.

‘Oh, hi, Evie,’ he grinned. Then he looked around me. ‘Who's this?’

‘This is Anthony,’ I said evenly. ‘Anthony, this is my brother, Tim. We pretty much like