They moved all the rejected things downstairs and stacked them in the hall. Things that could be burned were then dragged into the back garden, and set on fire.
“You should have done this for Bonfire Night,” Stefan said, watching the flames slowly lick their way up the mountains of old photographs and dog-eared books. An oak chair, scratched to pieces by some long-dead cat, began to smoulder.
“Maybe next year. I’m sure Darian will fill the place with more rubbish by then.”
“How long have you…?”
Stefan trailed off. But when Yannis said nothing, he huffed and finished his sentence.
“…been with Daz?”
“Since we were teenagers.”
Stefan fidgeted. “Am I the first you…were involved with?”
“No.”
“So you’ve…you’ve done this before.”
“Yes.”
Stefan chewed on his lip. For a long moment, a si
