He cut a notch in the frame for every girl he had in that bed. He’d lie there and feel the serrations, a place only his fingers knew. Thinking about the next time…

The next time was in a bar. A basement, somewhere. Thud, thud and UV lights. He found himself sitting alone at the end of the night. Done badly, he thought. Looked around – then suddenly, she was there. Opposite.

“Hello” she said, “have you seen Pete?”

“Pete?” he gripped the table edge, tried to focus. “Nah. Your boyfriend?”

“Have you seen Pete?” Something urgent in her eyes.

Couldn’t remember what he’d said, but it worked. In the taxi, clinging to him, her mouth on his. “Pete?” she said, confused. He kissed her.

Staggered through the door, onto the bed. Her on top, pulling his clothes off. Skin on skin. Urgent.

“Are you Pete?” she said. He sank into her.

Morning. He woke alone, shivering on freezing sheets. Fear. Stumbling out, dragging stiff covers off the bed. Ice on the pillow. His indentation in the mattress. No notch on the frame.