Even men have the friend they turn to in times of emotional anguish. The friend who will hold the phone as you weep down it; who will hold that line whilst you cry yourself to nasty, drunken, sweaty sleep having forgotten to remove your shoes or to brush your teeth or to close the curtains. The friend who will be waiting outside your door as the morning sun burns aching bloodshot eyes through which you were doing sambucca shots the night before. The Angst Perv friend.  My cousin Kris is not that friend, and it’s not like I’d ever forget to brush my teeth. But it’s Kris whom I called.

She was in Fabric and I got 10 minutes of bass before a voice.  “Traffic light party!” she screamed.  “Guess which colour I’m wearing!”

“It wouldn’t be green, now, would it?”

“BLACK. It means the traffic light’s BROKEN. It means CRASH.”

“How very unique.”

She said that she’d be in Cambridge in 48 hours. A little spontaneity. I knew that she would be. On Wednesday she was standing outside college like some disco refugee, all white hair and Paddington bear duffel. “On the phone you just sounded so miserable...”

We made our plans. Two steaks, good red wine and Sainsbury’s Basic vodka. “Buy Absolut,” Kris said, “and you risk remembering tonight tomorrow.” Halloween week opens your options: hence, zombie pub stagger. Post-meal and memory, we left college looking like serious dead people. Anna, heading back in, dropped cigarette in horror.

“You should join.”

“But I feel so – alive.”

I don’t remember where we drank or what was confessed. Kris mounted the Jesus horse. Anna threw up purple into a punt near Magdalene Bridge. At four in the morning, we cycled home with Kris stuck in my basket and the buildings all one shade blacker than the sky. This is why you shouldn’t call your Angst Perv friend when your heart’s butchered all over your bedroom floor. 

I sat with my cousin at brunch and felt like a twat for ever calling her. Charlie was around, of course, all Sunday tracksuit shuffle and flip-flops in October. Kris watched my eyes track him across the dining hall, and laughed. “Time to adjust the bi ratio,” she said. “Girl from last night.  Way hotter.”

“She’s a fresher,” I said.  Kris just kept laughing.