If we bumped into each other unexpectedly, we could barely contain ourselves. In the kitchen, she dropped her Tomato Flavour Drink while we removed it from the hatch of the machine. Red water spilled across the floor while we stared at it in silence. At the fax machine, I was so flustered to find her waiting behind me that I had to ask her for help in sending a reply to a fax from Simon & Schuster, New York. (Later, with insufficient work to do, I looked up their address, Avenue of the Americas, on that map on the internet. It was in Manhattan. Amy was in Brooklyn. I looked up the subway links. And that was another problem: if I wasn't thinking about Clare, I was thinking about Amy).