24 Eighteen years earlier.
Amy snuggled into Lewis as the film took another dramatic turn. She watched through her fingers as Ryan Phillippe’s character was murdered on the balcony, only for the police to discover no sign of either killer or victim.
The film had been Lewis’s suggestion. One he’d seen at the cinema when it came out last year. It wasn’t Amy’s sort of thing, but she didn’t really fancy the idea of arguing with him.
‘Good, yeah?’ Lewis grunted. He stank of cigarettes and cheap booze, even though it was barely four o’clock in the afternoon.
His and Greg’s flat had become a shrine to alcohol, parties and drugs ever since they’d moved in a few months earlier. Lewis had always been a bit of a livewire, but having his own space and personal freedom had only added tinder to thos
