Katie made us lunch: a small bowl of pasta each. She saw my expression
as I tried to contain my disappointment. "You know Francesca has to
watch her calories like a hawk to stay looking like that?"

I thought guiltily of the curries Rob and I had been tucking into every
night via her many delivery apps. Okay, salads and smaller servings now.
We cuddled up on the sofa afterwards, watching some property show about
happy couples hoping they could afford a future together.

"Okay," I said eventually. "I'd better go."

She didn't let go of my hand. "I wonder if I'll even remember this when
I see you next. Or if my memory will be wiped or something."

"I don't think it works like that."

Although we both knew when I left, she wouldn't see this version of me
again. We wouldn't even discuss it. Neither of us would know how.

"I do wish there was a way this could work."

"I know," I said. If there was any time I expected to cry, it was that,
yet I felt perfectly calm. We kissed, long and hard, then she put her
arms around me and we buried our faces in each other's necks for the
longest time and then it was me that pulled away.

I checked the phone in the cab to see if Rob had checked in. Nothing
from him but at least a hundred messages from other people asking
Francesca to parties, gossiping, even a couple calling her a bitch,
which was nice. Also, one message that stood out because it was just a
number, not someone in her address book, although there was something
familiar about it and eventually, I realised that was because it was
mine. Which meant it was from Francesca, the real Francesca.

"Can you come over? Worried about Banshari." It had been sent last
night.

I tapped on the glass divider. "Change of plan. Can we go to this
address instead?"

I knocked on my door for a while before I remembered the spare key Rob
had hidden under a plant pot. We really needed to change that, anyone
could let themselves in. But as I reached for it, the door swung open
and Francesca gazed out.

She stared at me for a second, blinking. It seemed to take her a couple
of seconds to recognise me, which is to say, herself.

"Oh. You got it then," she said.

I looked round. I didn't like standing out here. Partly in case anyone
saw "me" with one of his female students in a short skirt, but also
because having had a few days away, this whole area suddenly looked
rougher than I remember. No broad leafy streets here, just graffiti and
rubbish bags and some guy in a muscle vest walking his pitbull.

"I'm coming in," I said and pushed past her.

My and Rob's house already felt different since the last time I'd been
here. The curtains were drawn and there were empty tins of beer
everywhere. Also, as I went into the kitchen, empty containers of
takeaway food piled up. I wrinkled my nose. Francesca and Banshari
really had embraced the single bloke lifestyle.

"Where's Banshari?" I asked. "Is she okay?"

"Pfffff," said Francesca. "She's fine. Overreaction. It's all fine."

She burped, then grinned at me.

"You look nice," I said pointedly. Francesca was wearing an old pair of
sweatpants I hadn't worn since an ill-fated attempt to paint the hallway
a year ago, and a hoodie over... I'm not sure it was over anything. She
can't have shaved since the last time I saw her and her eyes were tinged
with red.

Francesca burped again. I peered at her. "Are you drunk?" I asked
incredulously.

"No!" she protested. "Well, a bit."

I could feel a rage building inside. How dare she get my body in this
state? But Francesca was already pushing past me, flopping onto the sofa
next to a half-empty bottle of vodka by the sofa. The television was
blaring out a daytime soap. For some reason this was the last straw.

"What the fuck is going on?" I asked. "Where's Banshari?"

Francesca shrugged. "Dunno. Out with her new rugby mates probably,
that's what she's been doing ever since you guys left. Playing rugby and
drinking and staying out and then in the morning, if she even comes
here, she does it all again."

Gingerly, I moved a pile of curry-stained plastic tubs off an armchair,
my armchair actually, Katie had helped me choose it in Ikea, and sat
down.

Francesca giggled. "I can see your pants."

I crossed my legs and folded my arms. "Okay, let's start again. Have you
been out of the house since this happened?" It certainly didn't smell
like it.

Francesca opened her mouth and frowned. For a moment, I thought she was
going to say something profound, but instead she ran to the kitchen,
where I heard the sound of vomiting.

"Ooookay then," I said.

I put Francesca to bed. In my bed and put a glass of water on the side
table. Then I opened the window, went back downstairs and scrolled
through Francesca's phone until I found the cleaning company.

"Hi," I said. "I wonder if you do emergency cleaning?" It turned out
they did, for an exorbitant fee, which I was more than happy to put on
Francesca's account. And then I went and cleaned the vomit out of the
sink, because they shouldn't have to deal with that.

While the cleaners (three of them had arrived, Eastern European ladies
with a distinctly ex-military look to them) arrived, I told them to
avoid my bedroom, but otherwise do as best they could. Then I went back
to Francesca's to get some supplies, because something told me I wasn't
going to be leaving my house in a hurry.

I got a text from Rob while I was out. "Wont be bk tnght, hanging out',
with a blurry photo of various girls I think I recognised as members of
the hockey team. Fine.

The hot water had come on, so I ran myself a bath. With candles.
Something about the sheer blokeishness of the state Francesca and
Banshari had left my house made me feel no qualms at all about
retreating into the full Sunday supplement version of the life I'd
temporarily been given. If Francesca had owned a silk robe I would
probably have leaned against a window afterwards, holding a glass of
wine, my expression distant but thoughtful. Instead, I stayed in until
my fingers went wrinkled, then I got dressed and drove back to my house
as it started to get dark.

I'd taken my old house keys when I left, so was able to let myself in.
Everything was quiet and still, but as I put the lights on, I could see
the cleaners had worked their magic. A few days ago, I'd have felt
guilty about paying people to clean, but now I could see how if you had
money, the system worked for everyone. Apart from Francesca, who after I
peeked into her room, I could confirm was still asleep and had learned
nothing.

I knocked on the door put a coffee down on the bedside table.

"Ugh," she said, wiping her eyes blearily. "What are you wearing?"

I was wearing denim shorts, an old grey t-shirt and the Ugg boots and I
didn't much care for her tone. "Drink that," I said curtly, "then go and
have a shower and then we'll talk."

Francesca emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later, wearing my old
dressing gown and looking thoroughly annoyed. Sleeping in the afternoon
did that for me. So did hangovers. It was why I barely drank.

"I even cleaned my teeth," she said snippily. "Go me."

"Why did you text me about Banshari?" I asked.

Francesca groaned and flung herself down on the sofa. The dressing gown
was open now, but at least she was wearing boxers underneath. "It's
nothing. I was overreacting."

"Talk to me."

Bashari, it turned out, had thrown herself into Rob's life with just as
much enthusiasm as he had thrown himself into hers. She'd gone to every
sporting event Rob had booked and then some and been out drinking with
his rugby mates every night since we'd seen her.

"It was like once she realised she was now a straight bloke, she decided
to be the straightest bloke she could possibly be," said Francesca
bitterly, huddled over a second cup of coffee. "Rob's mates round all
the time, shouting at the telly and boozing. And when they're not here
she keeps going on and on about having a penis. I mean, it was
interesting at first, but it's like she's never got over it."

"Rob's the same with having boobs," I admitted. "It might be the best
thing that's ever happened to him. But look, Banshari's basically okay?"

Francesca sighed. "I mean, I guess so? She's too okay with it all, to be
honest. I'm worried she's going to just crash when this is all over and
she's back to tampons and sports bras."

"And you?"

Francesca shrugged again. "I don't know. This whole thing was a
mistake."

"I mean, sure," I said. "But currently, you're a straight bloke too. How
are you finding it?"

She gave me a side-eye then. If you've never had someone look at you
sarcastically from your own body before, I don't recommend it. It's
weird.

"What is this, student welfare all of a sudden?"

"Um," I said uncertain. "Maybe?"

"It's fine," she said. "It's all fine, everything's fine. Just a few
more days until I'm back over there-" she pointed at me - "and you're
back in here and then everything's back to normal."

And then, to my horror, my own body started weeping in front of me. I'd
never seen my cry-face before. It wasn't good.

I picked up a box of tissues (didn't even want to think about why those
were in the front room), moved over to the sofa and gave her a cautious
pat on her shoulder. To my surprise, she took my hand, clutching it
tightly why she continued to weep big snotty tears. When she finally
reached some sort of pause, I handed her a bunch of tissues and she blew
her nose. It sounded like a foghorn. And then she started crying again.

After a while, I went and made some dinner for us both. I hadn't cooked
since this whole thing had started and I realised as I put the spaghetti
on, dug out some frozen bolognaise and put it in the microwave, how much
I'd missed it. I'd missed this crappy kitchen, too, even if half the
shelves were now out of reach and all the saucepans were suddenly twice
as heavy.

Francesca stared at me as I returned to the front room with steaming
bowls of food, as though I'd just performed some sort of astonishing
conjuring trick without any warning.

"I didn't know you could cook!"

I handed her a bowl. "Eat that. You'll feel better. And maybe afterwards
go and put a t-shirt on or something. I've never had my own nipples
follow me round the room before."

Francesca grunted but tucked in. We ate in silence. Afterwards it was
her who took the bowls back and, to my surprise, rinsed them under the
tap before putting them on one side. Baby steps.

"Um," she said hesitantly, after she'd been up to my bedroom and
returned sporting some baggy sweat shorts and a Star Wars t-shirt I
hadn't worn for years. "I just realised I hadn't asked you how you
were."

"Ups and downs," I managed. "How about a very small glass of wine?"

She nodded. Luckily the wine hadn't been touched by Banshari or Rob's
rugby mates, so I found a bottle of red and poured us a glass each and
then I got her up to speed on events.

"Wait, you had a thing with Miss Holden?" She sounded impressed, I
wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Actually, it was the
latter, although I tried not to show it.

"So have you, now." I pointed out. "Although she knows it was me.
Really, I mean. Although obviously it was your body that was... involved."

She waved that away. "That's fine, I've a couple of flings before. They
didn't last long."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said carefully.

Francesca took a sip of her wine. "Banshari's done it with two different
women since this started. She's staying with one of them tonight."

"Uh, okay," I said. "Two?"

"At least. She kept trying to tell me all the details, but I didn't
really want to hear them."

"Because..." I guessed, "if she's doing it with anyone it ought to be
with you?"

Francesca's lip wobbled again but she managed to keep it under control
this time. "I loved the idea of it so much, you know? We had this
fantasy of you and Rob and we thought we could sort of... slide into it.
And we did, that first morning, it was amazing, even after you left."

I winced then, thinking of arms sliding round waists the second they
thought we were out of sight.

"We didn't do anything... penetrative," said Francesca quickly. I made a
small "argh" sound which I manage to disguise with another sip of wine.
"But just being in this fantasy, playing out these roles we'd been
thinking about for long, it was wonderful"

"And then Rob and I went and spoiled it all by being straight," I
guessed.

"I would have kept going," said Francesca. "Honestly, we could have kept
it at that level. Very caring and romantic. But the longer it went on,
the more I realised Banshari, the real Banshari, didn't want caring and
romantic. Turns out she finds it really boring. We had an argument about
it and then her rugby mates turned up, so we had to pretend in front of
everyone, but actually I'm not sure she was pretending, after a while. I
think she's kind of... a lad."

"Wait," I said. "Other than at the university, have you been anywhere?
Done anything as me?"

"No offence," she said, "but there weren't exactly loads of
invitations." That stung, but it was fair. The only people in my life
had been Rob and Katie, and both were off the table. Then I thought,
what if this whole stupid thing hadn't happened? Would anything be that
different? Rob would be out with his mates; I'd have been moping at
home.

"We should get you out of the house," I said. Francesca yawned. "But not
tonight, obviously."

She managed a half-smile. "I'm fine. You go home, I'll tidy up the
cooking stuff."

"Forget it," I said. "I'm staying." She gave me a wild-eyed look then
and I quickly added "on the sofa. But I'm not leaving until I know my
body is in at least roughly the same shape as when I left it. "That's
fair," she said. "Although you must know, that television's rubbish, one
million reality shows and three weird European pop music channels."

"You're saying it never occurred to you that you could still use your
streaming channel passwords? All this time?"

Francesca opened her mouth then shut it again.

Turned out Francesca hadn't watched a single Marvel movie, so that was
the evening sorted. She made noises about wanting more wine, but I
decided that wasn't a good idea and to my surprise, she agreed. I sat on
the far end of the sofa, legs tucked up beneath me, while Francesca
sprawled out under the patchwork quilt my auntie had made pulled over
her.

I turned the television off after the second film and realised that
Francesca hadn't been watching it all but staring at me.

"What?" I asked uneasily.

"You're so contained."

I looked down at myself. "I assume this is just the way you sit. I
always had tight hamstrings, so it's nice to be able to fold up like
this, you know?"

"I mean, if I didn't know anything was wrong, I wouldn't know anything
was wrong."

"Okay," I said, because I didn't know what else to say.

"I can't believe you really came to make sure I was okay," she said
softly, sliding out from underneath the quilt and getting to her feet,
yawning. I'd forgotten how tall I was. "That's the nicest thing anyone's
done for me in a long time."

"Hey, I made up on your behalf with someone called Gemma," I said,
pulling the quilt around me. It smelled of... me. In a good way.

"That's nice," she said tiredly. I realised then that there were
multiple Gemmas and making up with one probably didn't make much
difference. She paused at the doorway, looking back at me as I wriggled
out of my shorts under the quilt. It felt ridiculous, trying to change
modestly in front of the person whose body this actually was.

"I know," I said. "It's weird." She nodded tiredly and went up the
stairs. Which was good, because otherwise I would have tried to take off
my bra from underneath my t-shirt and I had no idea how that would have
worked out.