Becky asked me as I spooned pasta into my mouth. I used chewing as an excuse to find a decent answer, I didn’t want to lie to her, but as I hardly ever went out, I’d have to think of something believable. I choked as I tried to get rid of my food, my throat constricting with guilt. “Erm. . .” It was no good. I came clean. “I’m actually going to the Chance show.” I raised my eyes slowly to assess her reaction. It was not good. She slammed the glass of water she’d been holding onto the kitchen table opposite me. I flinched and braced myself. “I’m sorry. You what?” Her voice was dangerously calm and I knew she was bubbling. I had very good experience in detecting outbursts from people. “A girl from work had a spare ticket and asked me to go. It’s not like I’m going to see him.” The lie fell out of my mouth without me even preparing it. Perhaps I was better at this than I’d thought.
