Yann had left me on my own again. Well, not exactly alone. The house was full of people - dancing, drinking, talking, laughing people - but don't we always feel loneliest in a crowd? Besides, the only person I knew at the party was Yann.

I leaned back against the wall and waited for my E to hit me. It would at least give me some Dutch courage, which I was going to need before I made small talk with any of these suave-looking revellers. The room Yann had left me in was entirely unfurnished, except for the DJ set-up on one side and a heap of cushions on the other. My whole body seemed to vibrate with every pounding, industrial beat. I had no desire to bop along to it, however.

I ran my eye over the crowd. They all looked the same to me. Ostentatious, pretentious and clothed in expensive fabrics like linen and silk. Yann's crowd. One guy didn't fit in, though, and it wasn't just his badly cut shirt or his flower-power flares. He was doing an odd kind of two-step move, just out of synch with the beat, which revived the memory of an old musical I'd adored as a little girl. His face was not the relaxed expression I aim for when dancing, but focused and sincere. When he looked up, the lights bounced off his eyes, so I couldn't tell if they were blue, or green, or red. Probably not red.

An arm suddenly slipped around my throat like a steel necklace. 'That's Kadeem Naser. He's a fucking weirdo, even when he's straight, which is, like, never.' My stomach contracted in fear. I knew better than to make Yann jealous. One of his oldest friends had a scar from eyebrow to lip because Yann hadn't liked the way he'd looked at me. I forced a lightness into my voice. 'Who cares? Isn't there a bedroom in this place?' Yann's eyes lit up. I hadn't slept with him since his last ugly fight and I knew he was hoping tonight was the night. He handed me his beer. 'Get this down you, then we'll find somewhere more…intimate.' He said it in a fake American accent that seemed to claw its way under my skin and stay there. I remembered telling Yann I loved him, and meaning it. It suddenly seemed like a long time ago. Last week, maybe?

'I've got to take care of some business next door,' he was saying. I knew what that meant. 'Look, please don't.' He laughed and I wondered why I bothered. It was a long time since he'd listened to anything I said. In another moment, he'd left me alone again.

To take my mind off whatever horrors were going on in the next room, I crossed to the window. It was my favourite time of night, that bewitching moment when the sky seems to hold its breath before allowing the dawn to steal over it and eclipse the stars. It was still raining and the night was as black as I'd ever seen it. I watched puddles forming in the street and great sheets of water lashing car windscreens. On an impulse, I lifted the latch and leaned out, taking a big gulp of the rain-scented air. I felt like a prisoner trying to hold on to a last patch of blue sky before the doors closed forever on freedom.

The window suddenly jerked on its hinges and a hand shot out to stop it slamming into me. I saw that the 70s throwback had come to stand beside me. 'Thanks,' I said, slightly shaken. He smiled, his teeth flashing white against the shadows dancing on his skin. Now that he was so close to me, I could see that his eyes were as black as the sky.

Nice night,' he said conversationally. I wiped my rain-spattered fingers on my dress, feeling the need to explain my odd behaviour. 'I'm…watching the rain.' He looked out. 'Wow, it's really raining. Like…God, crying.' I liked this analogy. 'For all the misery on Earth.'

'Yeah, or else he's pissing on us. For being so damn evil.' He was laughing quietly, but then he turned serious. 'You believe in God?'

I hated this question. I didn't, but I was always half afraid I'd get struck by lightening if I said so. 'It's been a long time since I saw the inside of a church,' I said finally. He smiled slightly. 'I've never been in a church. Lot of mosques…my father leads the prayers.' I was surprised. He didn't look like an Imam's son. 'Well, my father's a drunk. The only prayer he's led lately is, 'Please God, let there be more gin,'' I said, smiling. He didn't smile back, just touched me lightly on the arm. 'And your mother?' I was moved by his concern. 'She's great, she holds it all together. He doesn't beat her up or anything. Much.'

'You live with them?'

'I left last year, but there's three little ones still at home. Sometimes I have them to stay with me.' I loved talking about my baby brother and sisters. They were the sweetest, loveliest kids in the world. He seemed pretty interested and I ended up telling him all about them, how Jesse was just learning to write his name and how the twins had screamed when mum suggested separate schools.

I asked about his family. He was clearly not as religious as his father, but neither was he as cynically agnostic as me. He missed his mother, who'd walked out a long time ago. That was when his father started going to the mosque and Kadeem started using. But he had an older brother who was helping him stay off smack and he planned to study theology in October. I admired the way he was pulling the serrated strands of his life back together and the way his eyes turned a shiny onyx as he spoke of it. The thought skittered across my mind that Yann would happily stab both of us if he chanced to walk back into the room. But I found desire is more powerful even than fear.

'Are you a friend of Miko's?' I asked finally, referring to our host. 'Who's Miko?' He sounded so puzzled that Yann's warning words jumped unpleasantly to mind. But then he grinned and I saw he was teasing me. 'Not a friend exactly, he's one of my brother's crowd. He's supposed to keep an eye on me tonight…' He tailed off and nodded outside, at the black street. 'You know, there's nothing like a walk in the rain. The way the icy water soaks through your hair, making you wetter, and wetter, and wetter.' I snuck a sidelong glance at him, trying to judge his mood. Dare I ask..?

I decided to chance it. 'Shall we go out?' He moved his gaze from the street to my face. I always look pretty wired on E, all pale, with huge pupils. I ran a quick hand through my hair, trying to smooth it down. It sprung straight back up again in untidy yellow tufts. He stuck his head on one side and looked at me quizzically. 'Aren't you Psycho Yann's girl?' he asked finally. He wasn't being disrespectful. This was how people referred to my boyfriend and Yann even laughingly referred to himself this way at times.

For a second, I couldn't remember what the question had been. But then Kadeem was moving away from the window and pulling on his jacket, a black leather one with sewn-on patches of long defunct bands. 'I'll meet you in the street,' he said.

I felt slightly winded by my easy success, but then remembered I wasn't free yet. I quickly found my pink sweater with the hood and yanked it over my head. I was still fumbling around in the dark when, through the wool, I heard Yann say, 'You cold, babe?' The fake accent was back. When had I ever found Yann irresistible?

I thought of Kadeem waiting outside in the cold, wet night. 'Listen, Cathy said they're out of fags, so I offered to run up to the all-night garage and get some. I could use the air.' I saw Yann deciding whether to join me, or perhaps whether to even let me go, and I tried not to hold my breath. 'Okay,' he said at last. 'But when you get back, come straight upstairs.' He swung a key in my face and I suppressed a flinch as I took in the fresh blood on his knuckles. 'Miko's little sister's room.' His grin was such an odious mixture of cockiness and control that I almost puked. Instead, I smiled. 'See you in a few.' I forced myself to kiss him and tried not to run as I moved to the door.

Kadeem was pacing the street, but he beamed when I came out. 'You took your time,' he said, not sounding too pissed off. 'I had a little trouble getting away,' I muttered, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the house. I didn't want to hang around here, I would be back soon enough.

'So, what's your name, or shall I just call you Psycho Yann's girl?' I felt hot and cold, frightened and bold, all at the same time. 'Lara,' I said, a little more forcefully than I intended. 'My name's Lara.'

'Well, Lara,' he said, 'I'm impressed.' He nodded back at the house. 'You're a brave one.'

'Touché,' I said. He smiled, and his smile was so open, so guileless, that I felt I hadn't really been smiled at in a long time. The rain was still pouring down, drenching his hair and neck, and sticking my sweater to my skull. We hurried past the corner and headed down the street. I thought of prisoners and blue sky, and hoped I would be able to extract something permanent from this little bit of freedom.