Ken has the keys, so we’re usually the first to arrive, but tonight Simon is already waiting outside, tall and gangling, leaning against the railing by the door to the hall, reading a book under the security light and apparently oblivious to the cold. His breath clouds around the book in his hands. He will have walked here, as usual. He lives the closest, but it would still have been a twenty minute walk, I know.

“Took you long enough,” he says, as we escape the car and approach the door.

“No it didn’t, you’re early,” Ken objects, throwing a big grin and jangling the keys. “Out of the way, I want to get inside.”

Simon merely tilts his book up against his chest and peers down (through the fog from his height) at the clearly unobstructed doorway.

“I thought I’d better drive carefully ’cause of the fog,” Dave excuses himself. “An’ Paul ’ere gets scared if I don’t, so…” He shrugs a ‘what can you do’ as Ken gets the door open and disappears inside. Dave follows.

Simon looks at me, as if I need to give an explanation too.

“I had to get changed,” I say, truthfully.

“Yeah, that’n’all,” Dave calls back, already inside. My heart hammers again for a moment, scared he might say more.

“Ah,” Simon nods sagely, as if taking in a great truth, and waits for me to pass him, so I do. Ken has already turned the lights on and is trying to coax the inadequate heater into life. It clearly involves swearing and dire imprecations, but eventually it starts making a noise. It’s something. Heat is implicitly promised for the future. In any case it seems to satisfy Ken, who comes back to where Dave and Simon have been pulling desks together and claims his space. I’ve been fetching chairs.

“Whose turn is it to make tea?” Ken wants to know. He’s setting up his DM’s screen, so it’s safe for him to ask.

“Paul’s isn’t it?” Simon suggests, depositing his character sheet and his ornate dice-box onto the desk in his usual place.

“Is it?” I ask, taking my seat opposite him.

“Oh God,” Ken mutters.

“I’ll do it right this time, I promise!” I say. “I don’t drink the stuff. How’m I s’posed to know I’m doing it right?”

“It’s so easy! I don’t even know how you could get it wrong!”

“I’ll do it when everyone’s here,” I promise.

The door is flung open dramatically. Lee practically bounces in. He even says “Sproing!” as he comes to a halt.

“Shut the fucking door!” Ken yells back without even looking to see who it is.

Lee reaches back precariously and shoves the door shut. “Aw, you’re just jealous ’cause I’ve got a girlfriend.” He looks the part. Of all of us he looks the most normal, takes the most care over his appearance. Neat black hair, expensive black leather coat that he unslings from his shoulders with casual ease.

“Yeah? Has this one finished her GCSEs?” Simon asks cuttingly. We’re never going to let Lee forget that one.

“Ye-e-es,” Lee retorts sulkily.

“And when are you going to tell her you’re a closet role-player?”

“Fuck off.” He takes his seat. “Who’s making the tea this week?” I raise my hand. “Oh fuck.”

“Look, if you want to do it–”

“You’re going to bloody learn how to make a cup of tea if it kills us,” Simon says.

“Your XP depends on it,” Dave points out.

“Erk.”

“No XP for anyone unless I get a good cup of tea this week,” Ken declares.

“Hey!” Lee and Dave object at the same time.

“You stupid–” Lee smacked Dave’s shoulder “– putting the idea into his head.”

“Not to put you under any pressure or anything,” Ken says to me brightly. I bury my head in my hands.

The door opens again and James steps in. “Hi guys,” he says.

“Hi, James,” Ken calls out, still not turning. He’s busy sorting out pieces of paper behind his screen.

“Hi,” others call, variously.

“Bit nippy out there tonight, isn’t it?” James asks, pacing over.

“You could call it that,” Ken replies. “I call it fucking freezing.”

James has a slow, easy walk. As he walks he unwraps the lower half of his face from his scarf and pulls his woollen hat off. He’s got long blond hair, down over his shoulders. He probably looks more like his current character than any of us, but for the pink glow in his cheeks from walking in the freezing fog, and the cheap anorak and worn-out jeans and trainers.

“Right, everyone’s here,” Ken declares. “Tea.”

“Oh, great,” James beams, taking his seat next to mine. “Who’s making it?”